Uncertain Voyage
by Ken-Goh
Summary: Sequel to Shine On, Shine, On. The beginning of a new story arc, In Some Brighter Dreams


**- DISCLAIMER**: This is an (alas) unlicensed work of fan fiction. I do not own the copyright to _Eureka Seven_, the characters of the anime series or its setting. Bandai Entertainment and Bones Studio have the legal rights to anything directly relating to the wonderful _Eureka Seven _series_ -_ though all my original characters, as well as all lyrics and poetry, are solely mine.

_Uncertain Voyage_ is part one of a new story arc, _**In Some Brighter Dreams**_.

_In Some Brighter Dreams_ is a sequel to, and extension of, the events chronicled in my earlier _Eureka Seven_ followup novel, _Shine On, Shine On - _which is itself an extension of _The Fire in the Heart_. The component sections of both novels are available here on this site.

This is the proper sequence of all installments up to this point:

_**The Fire in the Heart**_

1: _Out of the Nest_

2: _Loss of Life_

3: _And I Shall Be Your Light_

4: _The Flame at the Heart of the World_

_**Shine On, Shine On**_

1: _The Edge_

2: _City of Dust_

3:_ Borealis_

_**In Some Brighter Dreams**_

1:_ Uncertain Voyage_

All of these can be found here on this site.

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**Uncertain Voyage**

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**A story from the world of **_**Eureka Seven**_

**by **

**John Wagner**

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**Chapter One**

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The rain - entirely too cold for early summer, but Number Eight didn't give a damn about that - made the rough stone walls of the Temple sparkle in the City's bilious light. Below each side of the great pyramid, long copper gutters collected its runoff, splashing and gurgling, drowning out the murmur of late-night communicants emerging from Contemplation Gate.

A little car whizzed past, its tires sizzling on the wet roadway, its headlights soft blue-white shafts through the mist. Number Eight waited for its passing then hurried across, quickly finding concealment in the sodden branches of an ornamental shrub. On each side of the Gate a Guardian of the Flame in a black raincoat stood patient watch. No one could get inside without passing their scrutiny, but Number Eight had no intention of going inside.

Rain dripped and splattered on all sides. The handful of remaining chanters bent themselves into the wind off Lake Epiphany, called half-heard good-byes to each other and hurried away toward cars or trams, melting into the liquid night. Number Eight's chronometer showed 11:38 PM. Another car passed without slowing. From all around, the distant pulse of the Heart of the World occasionally penetrated the slosh and patter of the rain: aircraft rumbling unseen across the black sky; the buzz of patrol boats on the Lake; shreds of laughter from an unseen apartment.

Number Eight came instantly alert. From the Gate sounded a faint, thin voice, _her_ voice, followed by a few words of meaningless greeting from one of the Guardians. Then the _whump_ of an umbrella followed by footsteps, light and delicate but steady on the wet concrete. Number Eight's fingers found the handle of the glass knife, holding it at the ready.

Her splashing footfalls drew nearer, six, eight, ten, twelve... Number Eight caught the flicker of white boots and pounced silently from the bush. Thrusting the knife in, deep, _pushing_ the knife in, again and again. Her cry of astonishment and pain lasted only an instant before Number Eight's hand sealed her mouth, stabbing over and over and over.

When she went silent at last, Number Eight released her, watching her slide to the wet grass, bleeding and limp. But no time now for satisfaction; her bright yellow raincoat with its blotches of molten red would attract attention soon enough. Time to leave. Number Eight dissolved back into the shadows and the rain.

A good beginning.

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**Chapter Two**

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Kazuya Aruno jerked awake with the echo of his wife's screams still ringing in his ears. "What the hell?" He groped through the darkness for the light switch and missed, rolling to the floor with bedclothes still tangled about his feet. "Just a minute, just a minute," he called out as he struggled to his knees and found the bedside lamp, flooding their room with its reassuring glow.

Lark sat straight up, doubled over against her knees, mumbling softly through her sobs.

"What is it?" he asked her, scrambling back to the bed and wrapping one arm tightly about her. "Another dream? About the other place again?"

"I don't..." She shook her head and swabbed at her tears with one wrist, unwilling to look him in the eye. "This was different. There was someone crawling with anger, _hatred_. Enough to...to kill."

Kazuya maintained a bland face to cover his fears. "Okay, breathe deeply and regularly, the way they taught you to, okay? Great. Deep breaths, and slowly, one at a time. That's better. Now tell me what you saw, in steps, starting from the beginning."

"Right. Yes, you're right." She nodded and wiped her cheeks with a bedside tissue. "At first, all I could see was darkness. It was wet everywhere, and cold, but I - I mean, I was at the center of the dream - didn't care. I was just so full of rage at her _betrayal - _"

"'Her?'"

"At the girl, the one I had to...kill. I _hated_ her, hated her for something she'd done. She had to _die_, I was sure of it. And I did it myself."

Kaz went frosty inside. "You...did it?"

"In the dream, yes. As though I was someone else, the one with the screaming thoughts, the one who wanted her dead." She shook her head, eyes tightly closed. "There was a yellow raincoat, all smeared with blood. And a black knife I stabbed her with, time after time... It was _hideous_."

"Yeah, sounds that way." He held her more tightly still, feeling the trembling fade, if only a little.

"I should take another pill."

"Are you sure? You're supposed to be tapering off those things. Laurel said you were starting to get dependent on them. You should meditate, instead, the way they showed you at the Temple..."

"Kazuya, I just _murdered_ someone!" She held both hands before her, as though expecting to see them slimy with gore. "Or at least I was _dreaming_ about someone who did. It was awful. I feel...too _contaminated_ right now to do any meditating."

"Okay." The bedside clock read precisely midnight. With a final hug, he rose and shambled to the bathroom. A line of multicolored pill bottles occupied the entire second shelf of the medicine cabinet; he pulled down the orange one and examined the label: _For anxiety accompanying vivid dreams_. Only three remained in the bottle.

A large brown shepherd dog poked his nose around the door frame, blinking in the light. "I felt something scary. She heard another one, right?"

"You got it, Moonrunner." Kaz ran a juice glass full of water and sighed. "I wish she could just turn off this..._talent_ of hers. If that's what you could call it. But not even the best of the therapists at the Temple really understand how she does it at all. And I'm not so sure, any more, that they even _want_ her to be able to turn it off."

The dog nodded sympathetically. "Because of Mist."

"Yeah, the Mist. She's the only known telemedium on earth, the only one who can warn us when the Mist comes back. And the only one who can channel its thoughts when - _if - _it does. So I'm starting to wonder just how hard they're even _looking_ for a way she can close her mind." He popped the lid of the pill bottle and dumped one of the violet-striped capsules into his palm. "And it's killing her, by centimeters."

"You, too, I think."

"Maybe." Kaz replaced the bottle and switched off the bathroom light. "I've gotta stop by the Medical Center tomorrow and get this prescription renewed. 'Night, Moonrunner."

"Sleep good, you both."

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**Chapter T****hree**

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Rick and Ariadne fidgeted backstage. With high, cautious steps, she lifted her high-heeled black sandals over a clutter of A/V and power cables snaking their way along the floor toward the podium beyond the curtain.

_If we're going to have to give these press conferences,_ she flashed, _the Ministry could at least make it a bit less cluttered back here. I always have an awful fantasy of stepping out there and tripping flat on my face_.

- _No one'd mind if_ you _tripped_. His own Coralian jewel sparkled in return. _You're _gorgeous. _And a gorgeous girl in a skimpy white gown is_ still _gorgeous, even when she's laying flat on her face_. _Maybe more so, I guess, depending on which way she falls_. From outside, in the cramped conference hall, he could hear the sounds of chairs being dragged into place, and the brittle chatter of reporters milling about. Not long, now.

_It's nothing to joke about. No matter what Mother and Father say, I still can't see press conferences for a roomful of silly reporters as any kind of important duty. Just about anyone in the government could do it as well as we_.

"One minute to air time, Your Majesties," said a passing technician, tapping his headset harness.

Rick nodded back and shifted his black uniform, modeled after the black duty gear of the Guardians of the Flame, into precise fit._ - Dr. Egan keeps saying it's important for the royal family to give them. But I've hated this "royal family" business all along. We're not_ royalty,_ for crud's sake. And without our daily Ministry briefings, we wouldn't know anything more about the Farm Crisis than anybody else_. _Well, not much, anyway_.

"Dominic always used to tell Mother and Father that people need figureheads," she said, dropping back into normal speech.

"Yeah, well, you'll notice that he hasn't said _that_ any more since he became a Coralian hybrid, too. Not since he was frozen out of his old job as - "

"Thirty seconds, Prince Maurice."

"Yeah, okay. We're coming." He gave his hand to Ariadne and they both moved to the edge of the stage, waiting for their introduction, wings folded. - _Dammit, I wish they'd call me Rick_.

_'Maurice' is supposed to sound more dignified, you know that __by now. And besides - _

In his impeccable dark suit, the Ministry of Information press secretary, Claudio Montiverdi, passed them and walked out to the low podium erected on the stage. The murmuring and shuffling among the unseen reporters dropped to an expectant silence. "Ladies and gentlemen of the press, thank you for coming. I now give you Princess Ariadne and Prince Maurice."

He gestured off-stage, and Maurice took Ariadne's hand as they walked out into the glare of the cesium floodlights with measured steps. The room smelled of fresh floor wax; a light patter of polite applause greeted their arrival at the low podium.

"Good morning," said Ariadne in her clear voice. "Maurice and I would like to second Mr. Montiverdi's thanks for coming today. Before we address any questions, we have a few announcements from the Office of the Prime Minister." Though Rick knew well that she needed no notes, she glanced down toward the papers on the podium's surface. "First, IPF long-range monitoring has detected another failed Federation space launch, just twenty minutes ago." Politely, she waited for the expected buzz of interest before continuing. "The attempt was made from the Nobuko Imai Cosmodrome. A manned probe reached an altitude of two hundred kilometers before its third-stage engines failed. IPF Intelligence says that the trajectory indicates this was another attempt to reach lunar orbit and the ancient Arkship. There has been no announcement from the Federation about whether the crew of six survived the accident."

"Your Highness," began one impatient reporter, holding his recorder's microphone high. "This is the seventh try they've made to reach the Arkship. Is there any indication that - ?"

Ariadne flashed the cool smile that had devastated so many hearts, and ignored his breach of protocol. "That's all the content we have at this time. The Ministry of Information will be making official announcements as new data comes in."

"We've also got some new developments on the Farm Crisis," said Rick, before anyone else could try to pick up the thread. "The Agriculture Ministry says that the Coralside provinces have worked out a deal to export another two point five million tonnes of wheat and three million tonnes of maize to the New Lands." He looked up, and raised the polarization of his Coralian eyes against the brilliant glare of the lights. "Of course, that's not going to do much toward lowering food prices, but it should keep us from any really dangerous shortages for the rest of the year. In the meantime, the Ministry's announcing a new Farmer Education Initiative, to give free training to anybody who wants to take up farming here in the New Lands. There'll also be big tax breaks for new farmers - and that goes for any farmers who emigrate here from the Coralside, too. Prime Minister Egan's government knows how important it is for the InterDominion to be able to feed itself."

He looked out over the roomful of press people. The announcements, though interesting enough, were nothing likely to excite either their editors or the public at large. _Pretty routine stuff, really._

In the front row, a dough-faced woman in a long blue dress stood and raised her hand. Though it was no longer possible to estimate anyone's true age from their appearance, Maurice thought she had a curiously matronly air about her. "Sir?"

He nodded in her direction. "Yes, Ma'am?"

"I wonder if you would care to comment on recent articles in the _New Critic_ magazine concerning yourself and your sister. They have - "

Maurice bristled at once, but maintained an outward serenity. - _Not this crap again. Not right here, __at a press conference._ "Ariadne's my _wife_, not my sister. We're not related."

"Yes sir, but you were raised together. And now that you've both become Coralian hybrids, the blood connection is even clearer. Technically, you _are_ brother and sister."

_Don't let her provoke you,_ came Ariadne's warning.

"'Technically?' What does _that_ mean? You can't be _technically_ related - you either are or you aren't. And we _aren't_." He gripped at the edges of the podium.

The woman smiled in a thin-lipped, pursy way. "Perhaps _some_ would say so, I suppose. But your entire..._family_...is already quire remarkable in its disregard for common standards, is it not? I mean, your parents - "

"My _parents_ are dead. If you mean Their Highnesses, they adopted me, and I'm grateful for that, yeah. But they're _not_ my _parents_."

_Maurice, she's baiting you. __Just ignore it._

" - your parents were married when Renton Thurston was fifteen, and Eureka...well, no one even _knows_ how old _she_ was at the time, do they?"

"Show some respect, goddamit," muttered the reporter next her, loud enough for the first several rows to hear. The room stirred with the shifting of chairs and sudden interest.

The woman in blue plowed on, unheeding. "And of course there is your, ahem, _cousin_, Lady Phaedra. Married to Lord Farnsworth at the tender age of - " she shook her head in disapproval, as if to give voice to such sordid matters troubled her deeply " - _five_!"

Ariadne spoke at last, low and quick. "Coralian girls mature very rapidly. Surely you all know that."

"But your..._sister_, Lady Maeter, is no Coralian." Her eyes narrowed, puffy and hard. "Married at _thirteen_, and to a Guardian of the Flame, no less. Can we not even trust a Vodarek communicant to adhere to common decency? Must the decent people of the InterDominion turn their faces from this shameful immorality, and fail to be _disturbed_ by it all?"

"Maeter and Alan are doing just fine," said Rick, his voice growing hoarse. "If you really knew something _about_ them, instead of just how _old_ they are, you'd know that Their Highnesses knew just what they were doing when they granted them permission to get married."

"I _see_." The woman nodded and smirked, as if she'd just scored a telling point. "Just as I suppose Eureka and Renton knew what they were doing when they permitted your five-year-old _sister_ and yourself to be married as well?"

Cries of "shut up" and "sit down, idiot!" erupted freely, all around the room, to no effect.

Rick felt sudden outrage blaze from Ariadne. "Renton is _not_ my brother! You already _know_ that, so why do you keep on _raving_ about it?"

"Because the _decent_ folk of the InterDominion are rightly disturbed at the disdain shown by our so-called 'royal family' to common standards of decency and morality! An unelected elite which sneers at the inherent wisdom of the people! By what right do you claim to lead us - let alone pretend to be _royalty - _when you cannot conform to..."

"So _that's_ it." Ariadne cut through her babble like a beam of plasma. "You're an _Antipat_. I recognize you now, you're Agatha Sterne, and you write for that poisonous little magazine, _The Arch-Skeptic_. You're all pro-Federation, and you hate _everything_ about the leadership of the InterDominion."

From somewhere, a pair of uniformed security guards appeared, motioning the woman to sit down, but she shook them away. "The corrupt and degenerate 'leadership' has proved _itself_ unworthy of our respect! The entire _world_ should be disturbed by - "

Rick, abandoning all pretense of calm, shook his fist across the podium. "If you people have so damn much time to be _disturbed_, how come you haven't got any time for _imagination - _or even _thinking?_ The world's a whole lot bigger than _your_ boxed-in little brains, y'know. It's hard _enough_ trying to build a new nation without a bunch of..."

Agatha Sterne lifted both arms to begin a fresh torrent of invective, only to be silenced by the gentle but unyielding restraining holds of the guards. As she was force-marched to the nearest exit, every other reporter in the room jeered her to insignificance, then stood as one and applauded the red-faced Prince and Princess.

They bowed in appreciation, and Claudio Montiverdi hurried forward, his forehead sweat-shiny, smiling profusely. "Thank you, Prince Maurice and Princess Ariadne. Ladies and gentlemen, that concludes today's press conference, thank you all for coming."

But Rick and Ariadne could only stand, hand in hand, barely hearing the fading cheers of encouragement from the chamber.

_Should we have done that, Rick?_

_- We're gonna know soon._ He cringed inside. _Real soon, I think_.

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**Chapter ****Four**

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Lark parked her citycar and set out on foot across the park, toward the Temple of Vodarek, its stone bulk rising high into the morning sky. A south wind made the wide brim of her hat quiver, and she tied its blue ribbon beneath her chin, more to distract herself from what lay ahead than out of any real necessity.

The main gate to the temple seemed to be buzzing with more than the usual amount of activity this morning. As she approached, Lark could see a large crowd spilling out into the street around several official vehicles, two of them topped with strobing red lights.

Drawing nearer, she could see dark-uniformed Guardians of the Flame moving through the crowd in a methodical way, looking from face to face. And beyond, more uniforms, this time of the city's Security Force, speaking softly to each other and to several white-robed Temple acolytes.

An unreasoning fear came to her, then. She approached a man in the New Tresor coveralls of an aircraft mechanic and tapped him on one shoulder, wondering if she were doing the right thing. "Excuse me. Can you tell me what's going on here?"

He turned, looked her up and down as men often did, and smiled politely. "Murder, they say. There was violence done here last night, not far from the Temple entrance."

Lark went cold. She nearly turned away, but something almost beyond her control made her stay, looking into the crowd, asking the question whose answer she did not want to hear. "Who...who was the victim?"

"A girl, or so I hear. Stabbed. Pretty damn brutal. Not the kind of thing we need here in the City, or in the New Lands at all. She had on a yellow raincoat and..."

Lark would listen to no more. She turned to hurry, to run, back toward the car, shutting out the man's words and the obscene buzzing of the gawking, staring crowd. She thought she might vomit, and choked back a sob. The sun blinded her, filling her vision...

"_Unh!_" She reeled away from someone approaching from behind. "I'm sorry, excuse me, I've got to go..."

"Lark." The gentle voice made an echo in her fear.

"...got to...there's been a... Wait, you're... Madrigal?"

As her overflowing eyes focused once more, she saw the Temple meditational therapist standing serenely before her, her white uniform with the pyramid emblem on the breast pocket shining like ice. "Yes. Viyuuden told me you would be coming. He sent me to watch for you."

"Viyuuden? How did _he_ know?"

Madrigal smiled and took Lark by the hand. "The Coral knows. And through it, the Will is made manifest." As if realizing that she had explained nothing at all, she tugged Lark away, toward the much smaller eastern entrance, away from the milling, staring mass. "Won't you come? I can see that you're terribly upset today. Is it your...visions again? The other land?"

"Yes, but..." For just an instant, Lark wondered how much she dared say. And then the revulsion of the ugly night came back to her, and the need to lay it all before someone who might help overwhelmed her. "They said someone was murdered outside the Temple, last night."

"Not precisely, but..."

"I _saw_ it. I saw it happen, in my dream. As though I _was_ the murderer."

Madrigal made no reply for a moment, then nodded and led her to the entrance at a quicker pace. "We should certainly talk, then. Won't you come along?"

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Lark had no need to be guided. After five years of twice-weekly therapeutic visits, the lower-level meditational chambers were as familiar to her as her own face. The soft lighting, the almost subliminal drone of chanting, the trace of antiseptic in the air, all combined to raise her level of apprehension with each automatic step.

Temple staff and acolytes passed them in silence as she and Madrigal walked. Though the stone walls had been carefully smoothed to give calm and reassurance rather than the oppressive atmosphere of a secret prison, still Lark could not keep the knot from her stomach as they approached the brightly-lit ward at the end of the main corridor. _They've all been good to me. And yet, each time I'm here, it's to struggle against the hooks that the Federation left in my mind. I'm so sick of it. So sick of it all_.

Madrigal gestured her to one of the many small chambers, containing a low couch, several chairs and some basic equipment for monitoring blood pressure and pulse rate. In her painful years of meditational therapy, Lark had strained the limits of both devices, more times than she cared to recall.

"Won't you wait here for just a moment, Lark? I must attend to other patients, now."

"You mean you won't be...? Oh. That's right, I came without an appointment. Then who...?"

Viyuuden, High Priest of the Community of Vodarek, entered without sound, smiling as though this were the pleasantest of social calls. "How good to see you again, Lark. I will be your attendant today, if you do not mind."

"Uh, no, of course not, but - "

The priest bowed to Madrigal. "Thank you for your promptness. I'm sorry to have interrupted your duties."

She smiled, bowed in return, and left. Viyuuden turned to Lark and bade her sit on the couch. He himself took one of the chairs and turned it around, leaning on its back as he faced her. "You have had a bad night," he said.

Lark did not bother asking him how he knew. "Yes. In my dream, I saw a - no, I _was - _a murderer. It was raining, and I was following a girl in a yellow raincoat. I hated her so much I wanted to kill her. I _did_ kill her, with a knife. I stabbed her and kept _on_ stabbing her, over and over." She raised her eyes to his, facing him, challenging him. "And don't try to tell me it was 'just a dream.' I heard enough from the crowd outside to know that it _happened_."

"I have never dismissed your dreams, you know that." He ran one hand over his head, where a short, forward-brushed nap of light brown hair dimmed his once-bare scalp. "I have little doubt that you _did_ experience a remote vision of some kind, and the City Security forces will surely want to speak with you. But you are wrong on one point, at least: the intended victim is _not_ dead. Thanks to the timely and direct intervention of Lady Eureka and Lord Renton, her life-flame was not extinguished entirely. She is even now in a heavily-protected room here in the Temple, where the Coralian Gift is repairing the terrible damage to her body."

Lark nearly sobbed with relief. "I'm so glad. Of course I'll be happy to talk to Security, if there's anything useful I can tell them. But why did I - ?"

"Mrs. Aruno, we are not all-powerful mystics, as you well know. After ten years of therapy and study, we still do not fully understand your unique talents, or how the inhuman Federation conditioning to which you were subjected awakened them. To a certain extent, we can suppress them with trance exercises and drugs, but not entirely. Your...other visions have not lessened?"

"No." She clenched both hands together and sank back into the soft couch, trying to present an image of calm and control, knowing well how completely she failed. "Last Friday, in the middle of the day, I was at my desk and...and I saw a kind of blurry opening in front of me. And I could see _through_ it, a rolling landscape at midday, with a horizon that seemed, I don't know, too flat and too far away, somehow. There was a road, with carts pulled by animals, mostly horses, but other ones, strange ones, that aren't even in any of the history books about ancient Earth."

"Yes, the 'other world' you have glimpsed so many times before."

"That's right. But this time...this time I saw _someone_. It was a _girl_, pale, with big dark eyes and long, straight black hair. I think she was wearing a blue dress of some kind. And then she...turned and _looked_ at me, directly at me." Lark shivered, the memory of it still unsettling. "She looked so surprised that I could have sworn she could _see_ me."

"I see. Did she resemble anyone you know?"

"No." She shook her head, much too forcefully. "But then Kazuya came home, and it all faded away. It was all so _real_. I almost felt like...like I could have stepped through and _touched_ her."

"I see. Tell me, your husband - how has he been bearing up with your visions? Did you tell him of the violent one that came to you last night?"

"Kaz? Of course. He's been a saint through it all. You think I don't know what a handful I've been for the past four years, since we were married? But he's encouraged me in every way, doing everything he can to help me. He never questions any of my...visions, just listens patiently." She lowered her eyes again, watching her fingers twist and strain against each other. "He never says a thing, but I know it's hard on him, and getting worse. I feel like I've been torturing him, as though...as though he'd be better off without..."

"_Never_ let your thoughts wander into such dark channels." The priest's voice echoed like a pistol shot in the small room. "Kazuya depends upon you as much as you upon him; I know the shape of his spirit. To lose you would be a pain beyond endurance to him. You _must_ continue to support each other. Believe me when I say that your marriage was the best thing that could have happened to you."

"I don't... Yes, I know that, really. It's just that it never seems to _end_. I can't keep a regular job; I'm afraid to be alone too long; whenever we're out together, I worry that I'll start hearing thoughts that aren't mine, feelings that aren't even _human_. Viyuuden, tell me honestly - _am_ I picking up something real? Or is it just hallucinations from what the Federation did to me? I want the _truth_, not more of the usual polite, comforting reassurance."

He frowned, clearly choosing his reply with precision. "There is no consensus among the Temple therapists, Mrs. Aruno. There _are_ many levels of reality, of course. We of the Way of Vodarek have understood that from the beginning. And there is no limit to those levels. It is a _possibility_ that some of those other realities impinge upon your sensitive mind from time to time. The alien consciousness we call the Mist is not the only creature whose thoughts you are capable of interpreting. And now, after last evening...there can be little doubt that under certain conditions, strong emotions from our _own_ reality may be making themselves known to you as well."

"Then at least I'm not insane." Lark closed her eyes and relaxed against the backrest. "I can be thankful for _that_, anyway. But these damn spells and visions just keep on _coming_, real or not. Can't I stop them, or at least _control_ them? After five years of this..."

"Yes, the strain on you is great, I know. But understand this: you are completely unique, and we of the Temple are in utterly uncharted waters with you. Your meditational exercises have already enhanced your control over outside influences immensely. But it is trial and error to discover new pathways that may bring permanent relief to you - and to your husband." He unfolded himself from the chair and stood, holding forth one hand. "You have been patient beyond all expectation, Mrs. Aruno. Please continue to do so while we together pursue your case. As for now, I should like you to visit someone. Your presence may be greatly beneficial to her."

Lark rose, filled with an irrational sense of relief that at least this dreaded confrontation had ended on a hopeful note. "'Her?' Someone I know?"

"Yes, though you have not been close for some time. One of your fellow Swallowtails from the Federation years. Her name is Wren. She was nearly ready to emerge from therapy, as you did five years past."

"What do you mean 'nearly?' Has something happened to her?" A rising dread burned in her.

"Have you not already begun to guess? She has been stabbed savagely and nearly killed." Viyuuden hesitated. "And she was wearing a yellow raincoat."

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**Chapter ****Five**

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Ariadne and Maurice stood together before the heavy oaken door to Renton and Eurekas' quarters.

_There's no point in dawdling, Rick. They know we're here_.

_- I know it. And they're mad as hell. _

_Fear won't help us. We..._

- _I'm_ not afraid! _Dammit, we're neither of us little _kids. _We're long grown up, both of us. And wasn't it _us _who helped save the damn_ world, _five years ago?_ _What've we got to be _afraid _about?_

_That's not what I mean. There's such a thing as..._

The door swung open on silent hinges, revealing Eureka in a diaphanous turquoise gown, her violet-pink Coralian eyes cool and distant. "Nothing will be accomplished by the two of you arguing on our doorstep. Come inside where we can all be together."

They entered. Renton stood within, sipping with little interest from a glass of vegetable juice. Beyond, a pair of birds glided past the window, and Rick wished passionately that he and Ariadne were with them.

Putting the juice glass to a low table, Renton faced them. "You two screwed up badly today, I hope you know that."

"But Dad," began Rick, launching into a passionate defense. "We were just - "

Eureka would have none of it. "Maurice, there is no _excuse_ for losing control of your temper like that, _especially_ on a nationally-broadcast video event. And _you_, Ariadne! I can usually expect _you_, at least, to be calmer and more thoughtful. Do either of you have any idea how much trouble you've caused?"

"I... Well, yeah, we do." With an effort of will, Rick did not lower his eyes. "But did you _hear_ the insulting things that stupid Antipatrician woman was saying? Not just about Ariadne and me, but _all_ of us - Anemone and Dominic and Phaedra and Hal, and even Maeter and Alan! And even _you and Dad!_ Have you ever heard such narrow-minded _crap_ in all your life?"

"Yes, we have," said Renton. "Ever since the InterDominion was founded, there've been a few who've muttered and groaned about Eureka and me. Some of it even more brainless and rude than what you two had to put up with this morning. But _neither_ of us ever gave in to the temptation to sink to their level and fire back at them in public!" He grabbed for another sip of juice, obviously working hard to clear his mind before going on. "Look, none of us ever asked for this 'royalty' business in the first place. But we've put up with it because everyone seemed to need it, whether we like it or not. And one of the prices we pay for taking that responsibility is to know that there are some people out there who just can't wrap their minds around anything different from what they've always known before. People full of...well, narrow-minded crap."

Ariadne's wings trembled with indignation. "Well, if you both _know_ that, why are you so upset that Rick and I defended you - defended _us?_ I should think you'd be _proud_ of us."

A sudden breeze rushed through the room, ruffling Eureka's gossamer hair. "Ariadne, this isn't some little schoolyard brawl you've involved yourself in. You must understand that there's far more involved than just your personal feelings - or mine, or Renton's. You're both representatives of the InterDominion, and you must _behave_ that way in public."

Before either of them could object again, Renton motioned them to the nearest couch and took a long breath. "Listen, in case you two somehow haven't gotten the message up to now, you're going to be our _successors_ some day."

Ariadne's eyes opened wide. "Successors? But Father, the Coralian Gift has eliminated aging and disease. You're not going to - ?"

"No." At last, he managed a crooked smile. "That's not what I mean. But nobody knows what the Coral is going to come up with in the future, or what _other_ weird things might happen at any time." Renton waved around him, and Rick understood that he was obliquely referring to the Mist. "If, for whatever reason, Eureka and I aren't around to be the InterDominion's figureheads in some crisis, _you_ two have to be able to step into the job. And the people - the biggest majority of them, anyway - are going to have to see you as someone they can respect and trust."

"We saved their ungrateful _butts_, the whole InterDominion, five years ago," grumbled Rick. "Us, and you, and Phaedra and all the others that that stupid Antipat was looking down her fat nose at."

Eureka nodded. "Yes, that's true. But you know perfectly well that apart from a very few of us, no one _knows_ what happened five years ago. And no one can be _allowed_ to know it, because if that knowledge leaked out, it would shatter this frail peace that we have with the Federation. Maurice - Rick - you must earn the public's respect by what you do _now_, not what you did _then_. And that means you can't have the satisfaction of squabbling with small-minded people in public."

"Not even when you're _right,_" Renton added. "Understand?"

"If we _don't_ fight back," Rick insisted, still unconvinced, "then those small-minded people'll _win_. You don't want _that_, do you?"

"Is that it?" Renton stopped pacing and looked at him, very closely. "You think you _won_ that little skirmish today?"

"Well, uh..."

"Listen, Rick, that Antipat woman was setting a _trap_. And you walked right into it, both of you. She _wanted_ you to come down to the gutter with her. She wanted to show everybody watching that her and her Antipat friends can _get_ to you; make you angry and lose control. And you fell for it, _just like she __wanted_."

In a single flash of understanding, Rick saw the episode from an entirely different perspective, and burned with shame.

- _Oh, no. He's right_.

_I know. I understand what they're talking about, now_. _We were foolish not to see it_.

"I, uh...get it, now, Dad, honest. I was just so damn _mad_ about the things she was saying about... Tell, us, what d'you think we _should_ have done?"

Eureka's wings rippled, catching the morning light from the window. "You should have let the security guards handle the situation. All you had to do was give her insulting questions a contemptuous silence - " she drew herself up and looked down her nose with such a caricature of haughty dismissal that Rick came near to smiling " - while _she_ made a fool of _her_self. And if she kept ranting, or approached the stage, the guards would still have dragged her away, while you would have remained dignified and above it all." She looked sidelong at her husband. "That's a lesson that both of _us_ have had to learn since we came to the New Lands."

Rick could feel Ariadne's regret and embarrassment simmering from her like a hot sidewalk. "I'm sorry," she said at last. "_We're_ sorry. It's so hard to remember that everyone's _watching_ us all the time, and that everything we do always has some kind of political significance. How do you and Father tolerate it so easily?"

"We _don't_." Renton's harsh laugh crackled with irony. "We hate it as much as you do - and we've been hating it _longer_ than you two. We thought that putting a stop to the Coralian War and coming here to the New Lands ten years ago would be the end of it all. But somehow, keeping the New Lands together always means having to behave like a couple of golden statues in an art gallery. And it gets even more important as the political situation gets more complicated." He sighed, deeply. "And politics never _stops_ getting complicated."

"How bad did we screw things up?" asked Rick.

"Bad enough. But we think it can be fixed - with a little time. Eureka and I've talked this over with Holland and Dr. Egan. It seems there's a sectional reffing tournament up in the Honshu Administrative District. I wouldn't mind seeing it myself. I used to be a pretty mean reffer, back before..." His eyes grew faraway for a moment. "Well, anyway, it's in the town of Shiretoko. They're looking for high-profile celebrity judges. And you and Ariadne are going to be at the top of the list."

"_Us?_" He searched Renton's face for signs of a joke, and found none. "But I haven't done any real reffing for five years, not since I got my wings. And Ariadne's never done much of it at all. How can _we_ - ?"

"You won't have to do any actual judging," Eureka assured him. "They only need someone of importance to participate, to demonstrate to the people of Shiretoko that the InterDominion government hasn't forgotten about them."

"But a _reffing_ tournament?" Ariadne sulked. "Mother...is this a..._punishment_ assignment?"

"Not entirely." She allowed a gentle smile to take the sting out of it. "We _do_ need to get the two of you out of the City for a while, that's true. Somewhere where you can be regal and dignified, and show everyone that you really _can_ control yourselves in public."

"But while you're doing that," Renton hurried to add, "there's something else of real importance that we'd like you to take on. Honshu is our biggest farming district, you know that?"

Rick and Ariadne both nodded.

"Well, agriculture's our biggest internal problem at the moment. Think about that news release you read this morning: the New Lands can't go on just importing grain from the Coralside provinces forever; we've got to be able to produce enough food to take care of our own people. The Honshu Farm Cooperative's got troubles - a _lot_ of them - with getting farm equipment, seed supplies, fertilizer shipments and so on. And most of all, _transportation_. Once they _do_ grow something, there's no quick, cheap, easy way to get it all to market."

"Who would want to go on being a farmer, with things as difficult as that?" said Ariadne.

Eureka sat next to her on the couch. "That's exactly the problem, isn't it? We've got to reassure them that here in The Heart of the World, we understand these things, and that we want them to hold on while we do everything we can to help them. And who would be better to give them our latest announcements than the Prince and Princess?"

"Well...I suppose that's true." Ariadne's neural node sparkled in sync with Rick's. "All right, then, when do we go?"

Renton relaxed visibly. "Tomorrow afternoon. We're arranging an airship and a couple of Guardians of the Flame to go with you. Some background information on the farm situation is going to be delivered to your quarters in a couple of hours. And...some recordings of my dad, making speeches. He was a real master in front of an audience, and studying them helped me, a lot. I'd like it if you'd do the same thing. All right?"

"Right, Dad." Rick had the idea that Renton had been expecting a great deal of resistance, and it troubled him to think that his adoptive parents might consider him and Ariadne so undependable. "We'll be ready." He stood and took Ariadne's hand. "Come on, let's get something to eat before the stuff starts arriving."

"All right," she said. "And Mother and Father...we're sorry. Really. We didn't mean to embarrass you - or the InterDominion. I don't think either of us actually realized, till now, how hard it can be to be...golden statues."

Renton finished his vegetable juice in a single gulp. "Then you're already one step ahead of Dominic. We'll come and see you again later, okay?"

-#-

When they were gone, Renton sank into the nearest chair and stretched with a cavernous yawn. "That wasn't as bad as I expected."

"I wonder if it wasn't wrong of us to expect it to be bad at all," said Eureka, stretching herself on the chair's arm next to him. "They're intelligent and resourceful. They always have been. It's only that they haven't the experience that we've had, not even after their horrible trip into the Federation."

"Yeah." He put one hand to her leg, so smooth, so perfect. "Ariadne's not the problem for me; she's our daughter and I _know_ how to treat _her_. But you heard Maurice this morning - we're not _his_ parents, and he and Ariadne both know it. He's nineteen, now, and he's more like, I don't know, a little brother to me, these days. That makes it tough to nudge him in the right direction without seeming like I'm riding him. I can't stop thinking about it." He yawned again. "Or maybe I'm just still upset over that poor Swallowtail girl who got stabbed last night. For a couple of minutes, there, I was afraid we weren't going to be able to save her after all."

"So was I. Who would have thought it, when we began the InterDominion? _Murder_, right here in the Heart of the World. We _can't_ allow that kind of ugliness to take root here. Should we tell Maurice and Ariadne about it?"

"Yeah, we should. Eventually." The summer wind hissed through their room, lifting loose papers and the hem of Eureka's short gown. "Innocence is too precious to waste."

-#-

The ancient temple's solemn stones surrounded Rick with their silence and mystery and peace. He stood at the eastern window of the Royal Family's level, staring out in the general direction of the distant Federation with emotions that oscillated between nostalgia and disgust. _I was only fourteen when Ariadne and I sneaked in there on a mission that'd make the whole InterDominion's hair stand on end if they knew. But instead, we have to act like a couple of tin soldiers and pretend we don't even notice when those narrow-minded Antipats insult us in public. Something's not fair about this deal..._

"What deal?"

Startled, he jerked around to find twelve-year-old Linck, youngest of Eureka and Renton's adoptive family, staring up at him, the elongated plastic case of a tenor odolon strapped to his back. "Linck. Jeez, you scared me. You on your way to the Conservatory for rehearsals again?"

"Yeah. There's gonna be a concert for Founder's Day, and the Youth Orchestra'll be opening it. None of us want t'screw up in front of an audience that big." He winced at the thought.

"Hah! _You_, screw up? Listen, kid, I've heard you practice, don't think I haven't. You're _great_ on that thing. You haven't got a _thing_ to worry about."

Linck struggled to suppress a grin of appreciation that nevertheless spread itself across his cheeks. "Thanks. What're you doing here by the window, all alone? Where's Ariadne?"

"Inside." He stuck his thumb over one shoulder, toward their quarters further down the hallway. "I just came out here to cool off a little. We're in kind of...hot water right now."

"Oh, yeah." Linck smiled sympathetically. "I saw it on the video this morning. You really ripped one up on that mouthy reporter. Not that she didn't deserve it any, but it wasn't too cool to let her get to you like that."

Rick felt the still-raw anger swell up in him, then die just as quickly. "Yeah, well, just wait till the Antipats get around to bad-mouthing _you_. You'll see what it's like, _then_." He shook his head in frustration. "No, never mind, you're right. It _wasn't_ too cool. We're all of us on a stage, all the damn time, and I can't seem to get it through my head."

"Uh-huh. Hey, Rick, did you ever wish we weren't? Famous, I mean, with all this 'royal family' stuff? You ever wish we _weren't_ all tied up with, you know, the Coralian and the Vodarek and the InterDominion and all?"

"I don't..." He stopped, then, aghast at the concept of a life in which he had never known Ariadne. And in that moment, all his complaints and resentments revealed themselves to him as the whinings of an ill-tempered infant, all oblivious to the wonder in which he swam. "No. No, I guess not. I'll just have to learn to live with it somehow. Thanks for reminding me."

Linck nodded solemnly and checked his wrist chronometer. "Sure. Look, I gotta go, so I can get set up before rehearsal starts. See you around, okay?"

"Okay. Take it easy."

**-****#****- **

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**Chapter S****ix**

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**-****#****- **

The door to their apartment opened and shut, and Lark looked up from her table with a smile. "Is that you, Kaz?" she called, brushing pastel dust from her fingers.

"Yeah, it is." He came into her little studio and unshouldered his backpack with a soft sigh. "How're you coming with that new commission?"

She stood, stretched, and held up her canvas: Eureka and Renton, in the dangerous days before the InterDominion, stood before the armored feet of the Nirvash Type Zero, regarding each other with wary suspicion. Renton had neither wings nor Coralian features, but stood like many another surly teenage boy in a scuffed reffing jacket, his dark hair sloppy and unkempt. Off to one side, a wingless Eureka, wearing only the shortened remnant of a Federation military jacket as a dress, stared back with aloof annoyance at the young intruder, neither of them aware of just how their lives - and the lives of everyone on earth - were about to change forever.

Kazuya looked, fascinated, at the brilliant pastel portrait. "This is Renton and Eureka when they first met, right?"

"About a week afterward. I've had complete access to the archives at the _Moonlight_ Museum, and I think this shows them as they looked and felt at the time. I'll scan it and send a copy to Their Majesties for approval before I submit it to the publisher, of course. What do you think?"

"I think it's amazing." He held it to the window, examining it from several different angles. "The subtle way the light plays on their faces...the way that Renton's looking sort of sideways at her, not sure yet what to make of her...Eureka's coldness and uncertainty... Nobody's _ever_ been such an expert with a box of pastel sticks as you."

Lark smiled in spite of herself. She had an objective appreciation of her own skills, but hearing it from her husband always carried a special, private thrill. "Thanks." She undid the welder's apron that she used to keep pastel dust from her clothing and let it drop in a corner, next to a wooden easel.

"I give credit where it's due, that's all." He hesitated, scrutinizing a small landscape, set somewhere in the Benthine Forest, far to the west of The Heart of the World. "How'd it go at the Temple this morning?"

She studied the floor. "I knew you'd ask. Somehow I was hoping you wouldn't."

"That bad?"

"No. Not _bad_, actually. Just no better. I talked to Viyuuden himself this time."

"Uh-huh. And...?"

"And they're still sure that I'm picking up random thoughts from all around, sometimes. Not necessarily human. They still don't know why. They're still studying how to help me control it, but since they don't know how it works in the first place, there's not a lot they can do yet. He just asked me to be patient. And renewed my prescriptions."

Kazuya took her in his arms and she surrendered to his warm comfort at once.

"The same old crap."

"No. That nightmare I had last night - "

She felt him go tense against her. "Yeah, what about it? Something new?"

"It was _real_. It _really happened_, Kaz. It was Wren, you know, I've told you about her, one of the other Swallowtails, still getting therapy at the - "

"I know, I remember."

"She was attacked last night, after a late service at the Temple. Somebody tried to murder her - by stabbing her. They took me to her and I talked to her. She's getting better, but it was a close thing, even with the Gift. They said that Eureka and Renton were called in, to keep her from slipping away. She's still frightened out of her mind. I almost felt guilty, because I'd seen it all, in my dream, only it _wasn't_ a dream at all. I was seeing the killer's thoughts, while he was..." Despite her best efforts, the tears came at last, and Kazuya's arms tightened around her once again, a wrapper of security in a life that had never before known security.

He said nothing for a long while, and Lark knew he was thinking furiously, analyzing, carefully choosing what to say next. "I went to see Dr. Thurston today," he said, unconvincingly casual.

"Dr. _Axel_ Thurston? Head of your research department? Is anything wrong?"

"No, nothing like that. He's very pleased with my work, like I told you. No, I just...asked for some vacation time, that's all. I've been putting in a lot of overtime...too much, really, I guess." Very gently, he released her, but still held her by the shoulders. "How'd you like a real vacation, you and me? We haven't had one for four years, and we were too broke to do it up right the first time. Look, I've picked up some brochures from that new resort they've just finished, down on the southern seacoast. You know, Ocean Dunes? Why don't you look them over? We can go off together and just relax and have a good time for a while."

Lark smiled, but shook her head. "I can't run away from this, Kaz. No matter how far we go."

"Well, no, not completely. But it'll at least give you a chance to get your mind off of it for a while. What d'you say?"

_It'll give us_ both _a chance to get our minds off of it._ "Okay. Okay, sure. Maybe it'll be nice, at that. Come on, let's start dinner; Moonbeam will be home soon."

**-****#****- **

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**Chapter S****even**

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**-****#****- **

Dr. Katsuhiro Morita made another check mark on his clipboard and looked out across the irregular masses of machinery surrounding the Pinwheel. At over a hundred and fifty meters across, the hulking circular mechanism's far side would once have strained his vision, even under the dome's brilliant lighting array. But now, bolstered by the youthfulness and visual clarity of the Coralian Gift, Morita had no trouble overseeing the servicing team surrounding Inductor Number Seven. He moved his stylus down to the line reading_ Indctr 7 Primary Charge Algnmnt_ and marked off yet another checkbox.

A white lab coat approached from the edge of his vision, and he looked up only when he realized it contained his own wife, Soniya. "Forgive me, my dear, I was expecting Nielsen, with the latest test results on the inductors. Anything wrong in your area?"

"Nothing new, no. But Gregory Egan is on your private line. I imagine he wants another progress report." She tilted her head and rolled her eyes comically.

Morita only nodded. "What else? It's been at least four hours since his last call. I wonder if we can afford to budget a staff assistant whose job it would be to keep abreast of progress on all developments, then report it all to Gregory at regular intervals."

"Probably not." She reached for glasses that she no longer wore, then tossed her sand-colored hair back from her eyes instead. "Our budget's tight enough as it is. And it's likely to get tighter still if you don't go and answer him. He's on the secure line in your office."

"Oh, very well. Here, would you be good enough to continue the checklist for the next run? Thank you."

Morita climbed down the elevated observation deck's open stairwell and made his way across power cables, communications cables, video cables and at least one electrical cord for a portable coffee machine, in order to get to his own office. His handprint opened the steel door, which he gratefully closed behind him, shutting out the din of over three hundred technicians and their noisy equipment.

He cleared his mind of irrelevancies, using the mental disciplines learned from Vodarek adepts, and keyed in his password. At once, the desktop screen before him bloomed into the image of Dr. Gregory Egan, Prime Minister of the InterDominion, looking very much like a professional acrobat taking a break between competition sets. _How does the man _ever_ find the time to stay so remarkably fit?_ "Yes, Gregory? Morita here."

Egan gave him an affable smile. Morita found it odd that both his shoulders appeared to ripple slowly as he spoke. "My apologies for interrupting your excellent work, my friend."

"Fortunately, no critical operations were scheduled for this moment. The secondary diminishing races should be ready for test purposes by - "

"No." The Prime Minister lifted one hand, and Morita saw that it grasped a small fifteen-kilogram barbell. "For once, I have not contacted you for a status update. Instead, I wonder if you might be prepared to receive a few...visitors."

Morita sat speechless for several seconds. "Is this an attempt at humor? _No_ project in the entire InterDominion has such a rigorous security level as the Pinwheel. Even many of my staff have - "

"Understood. But I do not ask if you _wish_ visitors, only if you can be prepared to _receive_ them."

Beyond the windows of his office, Morita saw a crew of welders distributing their equipment around the halves of an integrator housing. They called to each other in voices made faint and wispy by his insulated walls. Katsuhiro Morita wished devoutly that he could do the same with Egan. "The functional distinction escapes me. Please, Gregory, will you not come to the point? You know well how busy we are here, and I have the feeling that _whatever_ you're about, it will not lighten our workload in any way." A strobing red light announced another incoming call; he ignored it.

"Your instincts are correct. I know you have no mind for politics, but are you at least aware of a small but growing faction in the Senate which disapproves of the current administration and all its works?"

Surprised, Morita gave the matter a moment's thought. "Yes. A clique that crystallized around the former - and presumed dead - Senator André Fuillión. Not organized enough to be a political party, but chronically dissatisfied all the same. They seem to think we're far too hostile to the Federation, and that we should be making all manner of concessions and appeasements to them." He frowned. "Probably have ties to that scruffy Antipatrician gaggle, too. Why haven't you outlawed them and rounded them up?"

The Prime Minister smiled in his austere way and began juggling the barbells from hand to hand, without raising his elbows from the desktop. "The situation is not so simple. Ours is at least nominally a representative system. A loose confederation of disparate provinces held together by the need for a common defense and a desire to improve economic conditions. The InterDominion is a mere ten years old, with very little in the way of tradition to bind the provinces. Our 'royal family' is the nearest we have to a shared focus for them."

"Yes, agreed." A white-coated technician holding a control unit in one hand pounded on Morita's window for attention. He waved her away. "What has that to do with disrupting our work here at Smolensk?"

"Patience. Since you will not follow the events of the day, Katsuhiro, you must now expect to endure a brief lecture. If we were to 'outlaw them and round them up,' as you so blithely suggest we do with the malcontents, more than one province would see this as an attempt by The Heart of the World to implement an iron-fisted central rule. The already-loose ties between us and them would be weakened by suspicion. Thus, we do not have the luxury, as the Federation has, of forcefully stamping out any signs of dissidence."

"Or treason?"

"Perhaps. However, as long as neither the Parliamentary dissidents nor this effete 'Antipat' movement make no open violation of InterDominion law, our hands our tied. We can only watch, and wait for them to reveal themselves."

"Bah." Morita snorted with disdain. "What a foul and craven game is politics. You should have remained with pure research."

Dr. Egan rolled the barbells up and down his corded forearms, with fine muscular control. "I find the political life somehow exhilarating. All is in constant and unpredictable motion, not unlike subatomic particles, defined only by probability." He shrugged his massive shoulders. "In any case, the Pinwheel project has been a very expensive one. In spite of our best efforts, Holland and I and our Senate allies have been unable to entirely obfuscate its budget. The public records refer to your installation as a particle accelerator, performing research that will lead to radically new levels of efficiency in tapping the Ley Lines for power."

"That's not wholly impossible, I imagine. Eventually." Another red light demanded his attention, which he did not grant.

"Yes. But a number of Dissident senators have been demanding to see where so much of the provinces' tax money is going. We have no legal basis for refusing them, and even if we did, it would arouse instantaneous suspicions. The obvious solution is to give them a guided tour of your facility, while you and your associates describe your...particle accelerator...in the most glowing and promising terms."

"To shut them up?" Morita rubbed at his chin with one hand. In a quick guided tour, the huge circular central housing _could_ possibly be passed off as a simple particle collider, especially to a group of laymen._ If they truly _are_ laymen._ "Very well, I concede your point. But I'm not so thoroughly naïve as all _that_, Gregory - I've no doubt there are any number of Antipats, Federation dupes, secret sympathizers and possibly even outright spies among these so-called 'dissidents.' How can we be certain at least _some_ of them won't find a way to pass information about what they see here back to their friends at Pilgrim Island?"

Egan's face grew cunning. "It will be your responsibility to make certain that your group does not _allow_ them to see anything of use to Pilgrim Island. You are not a deceptive man, my friend, but deception is what you must soon practice. Effectively, Holland and I can delay the senators' visit for perhaps another week, no longer."

"A _week?_" Dr. Morita came near to jumping to his feet. "We're expected to disguise our most sensitive and critical high-security site as an industrial development project in only one _week?_ We are _researchers_, not hypnotists! We've not the faintest idea where to begin such a deception!"

"I know." The Prime Minister let the barbells fall to the tabletop with a firm but delicate _thump_. "That is why I am sending an expert in that field, to assist you. And now, if you will please excuse me, it is nearly time for my Controlled Isometrics session. Good day, Katsuhiro."

Morita could only stare, speechless, at the blank screen as it re-formed itself into the star-in-a-caliper New Tresor logo. The red communications light was still strobing as he hurried for the door.

**-****#****- **

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**-****#****- **

**Chapter ****Eight**

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**-****#****- **

With distinctly mixed feelings, Rick looked past Ariadne, out the airship's portside window as they circled slowly around the town of Shiretoko, some nine hundred meters below. "It's not very big, is it? I mean, even the Heart of the World isn't exactly huge, the way the Federation cities are. But _this_ place looks more like Bellforest, only without the factories."

The morning sunlight slanted in and lit Ariadne's brilliant aura of electric-blue hair. "_Nothing_ is very big in the New Lands. Dr. Egan thinks the Coral is somehow artificially lowering the birth rate, to keep us from getting too crowded, and he's usually right. Look at all the fields surrounding the town, though! Wheat, oats, maize, sorghum... It's like an amazing checkerboard, all the way to the horizon."

"Well, when you put it like that, I guess it _is_ kind of amazing. Hey, what's with those colored balloons all over the place, out along the river?"

Carl Lowe, one of the two plainclothes IPF Security agents assigned to them, turned his way. "They're for the tournament, sir. The locals have staked out a fallow field for the competition, and those marker balloons delineate the boundaries. It gives the competitors a reference, when they return to ground."

"Oh. Good idea. Ever done any reffing yourself?"

Lowe smiled modestly. "I made it to Third Level in District run-offs, sir, when I lived back in the Federation. Then I was drafted into the military, and I never went back to reffing."

"Uh-huh." Rick considered the lanky agent, and wondered just how old he might be. _Older than he looks, anyhow. Older than me. And he's been around a lot more, too_. "I used to do a little skeetering, too. Before..." He wriggled his wings and let the thought trail off, faintly embarrassed. "Does the Tournament start today?"

"No, sir." Emiri Miyamoto, Lowe's partner, looked over one shoulder at him. "It begins tomorrow morning at ten. Tonight, there'll be a reception and dance at the Hall of Commerce. You've been signed up for both," she added.

The airship banked sharply, bringing them down to a hundred meters above the Shiretoko airfield, where the pilot phased over into thruster power. The ship quivered briefly during the transition, then began to settle downward.

_There's a crowd down there waiting for us_, said Ariadne, running her fingers through her shoulder-length hair and shrugging her gown into minute alignment.

- _I was afraid of that. Mom and Dad must've made sure everybody knew that Royalty was coming. Is that a _band_, over by that raised platform on the landing field?_

_It _is_ a band, isn't it? These people must really feel isolated from the Heart of the World, to make so much fuss over our visit. They really _do_ need reassurance that we haven't forgotten about them, I think._

Rick dropped back to normal speech as he buttoned up the high collar of his black formal uniform. "I guess so. And we'd better do a good job of it, or we'll never hear the end of it back home."

-#-

Soaring on the glorious silent crest of trapar, Gene came out of his flawless Hammerhead Stall Turn in a long upward swoop, rocketing upward, into the eye of the sky. He crouched against the trapar pressure from below, riding the invisible current, tacking against it to gain altitude, up...up...and over. Then, just at the very utmost upside-down zenith of the climb, he released the magnets in his boots and dropped free of the ref board, into free fall.

Plummeting face-downward, weightless, he stretched out his arms to stabilize his trajectory. Seconds warped into minutes, hours of buoyant freedom, high above the hopeless prison of gravity below. Gene grinned and shouted for joy into the unhearing air, watching the board from the corner of his right eye, swooping downward to complete its circle...waiting for the precise instant... He flipped himself upright, and activated the magnets once more, catching the board at the precise instant it passed beneath his soles. It grabbed with a satisfying _click_ as he crouched into control stance again, riding the current, then diving downward with a showy tail of trapar rising in his wake.

"_Yeah!_" he shouted into the wind, raising one fist aloft toward the afternoon sun. "Gene Onegin's Flying Roll Drop! Watch it and weep! Nothing like getting it_ just right_." The stubby Competition Board beneath his feet - less stable but far more maneuverable than any standard ref board - skimmed along on the dense stream of trapar pouring out of the western mountains and across the plain. He allowed himself the extravagant pleasure of a quick series of Jump Skips, like a flat washer hurled across a pond, before settling down to a long, slow descent toward the Southwest Road below. Gene knew perfectly well that in his scarlet helmet and tight blue competition skins, he cut a dashing figure, and it would be just about time for Maria Wolf to be coming off her shift at the pumping station...

"_Reffer in red helmet!_" came the scream in his earphones, "_Reffer in red helmet! This is Shiretoko Tower Traffic Control. You are in a restricted area. Repeat, you are in a restricted flight zone. Please move to the northwest immediately._"

Gene swore and instantly angled his board northwestward; arguing with Air Traffic Control could never be a good idea. _What the hell, though? Since when is this terminal a restricted area? It's not like it's some kind of military aerodrome... Oh_.

No more than two hundred meters to starboard, he caught the sudden flash of a graceful white airship, returning the sunlight as it descended on six blue-white thrusters. "_Yokai_, Tower. I'm pulling away. Don't shoot me down, okay?" They said nothing; obviously, the ATC crew was not amused.

From an acceptable distance, Gene watched the airship lower itself to the airstrip below. Unusual, certainly. Very few ships ever squandered fuel on thruster touchdowns, instead of the more common and economical glide-path landings.

_Oh_.

Even from Gene's current distance, the round wing insignia of a world globe surrounded by green fire - official emblem of the InterDominion - told him that this could be no common passenger ship. _It's an official transport._ _Could it really be true, then, what the guys were talking about this morning?_

At once interested and eager, he dropped to an altitude of about thirty meters and pushed the competition board to its maximum ground-hugging speed, washing back only when he touched down at the parking area of the transit terminal just outside the fenced-off runways. The local peace officers lined up at the fence lifted their rifles suspiciously, but when he gave the board a showy mid-air flip and caught it in one hand while peeling off his helmet with the other, they allotted him no more than routine attention.

Gene elbowed his way forward through the chattering crowd pressed against the chain-link, craning his neck for a look. A brass band - _probably the Grange Marching Band,_ he decided - struck up an introduction, and he raised himself on tiptoe to see, grateful for the few extra centimeters' elevation of the ref boots. There, on a banner-draped wooden platform evidently knocked together for the occasion, stood Burgomeister Martin Lescault, holding up his arms before a small crowd of seated local dignitaries - whose qualifications, he noted bitterly, could only be rank and money.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" began Lescault, his voice booming across the runway from a public-address system. "Today, both our Province and our City are honored by the presence of two InterDominion representatives who are, I'm sure, familiar to you all. Both as honorary judges at tomorrow's District Reffing Tournament and as official emissaries from the Heart of the World itself, these distinguished guests need no introduction, I'm certain. Please let me present - " he hesitated for dramatic effect " - _Lord Maurice and Lady Ariadne_, the Prince and Princess of the InterDominion! Let us all give them..."

The Burgomeister's further remarks were swept away in a windstorm of applause and cheering like nothing Gene had ever heard in his life. Even the seated bigwigs rose from their folding chairs, clapping and shouting, while the crowd outside the fence screamed their delight. A knot of girls just to his left squealed in ecstasy and seemed on the verge of fainting. Gene had to clutch the chain fence with all the strength in his free hand to keep from being dislodged by the waving, shouting, shrieking throng.

The passenger door of the airship slid smoothly aside. _Trimurti almighty, that's _her! _It really is!_ The Lady Ariadne stepped out into the sunlight, coolly devastating in a low-cut yellow gown whose hem came less than halfway down her knees. Its thin fabric rippled in the breeze like living flame as she looked about her with a tantalizing smile, taking in the crowd with a sweep of lavender-pink eyes. _The _wings! _They're _alive_, glowing and flowing with color; amazing! She's gorgeous! A hundred times better even than she looks on the video!_

Immediately behind her, Prince Maurice emerged, stern and silent, in a black uniform of understated dignity. The girls at Gene's side groaned and clutched at their chests, making incoherent shrieks to each other with the Prince's every move. _Well, I've gotta admit, the guy sure knows how to make an entrance. Hey, I'll bet Maria Wolf'd be pretty damn impressed if I could tell her I met Prince Maurice himself, in person! There's a public ball at the Grange Hall tonight, isn't there? They'll pretty much have to invite the Prince and Princess. _A daring notion took shape in his imagination. _Maybe...I could even get close to the _Princess?_ Do I have time to find my suit and get it cleaned in time to show up? Yeah, if I get my butt in gear and zip on home right away_.

Fired now with fresh enthusiasm, Gene fought his way clear of the massing crowd, tossed his board to the asphalt, leaped aboard in a perfect Bounce Mount as it rebounded, then skimmed into the sky. _The Princess... Should I call her 'Lady Ariadne?' 'Your Highness?' Or just 'Princess?' _He flamed his way over the town of Shiretoko, barely seeing its familiar landmarks, his mind churning at the limitless prospect of the evening lying ahead. _They're here; _she's_ here, right in this lousy little town in the middle of noplace. The Prince and Princess._..

A hard beam of rationality intruded upon his rapture. _But wait a minute, Shiretoko actually _is_ in the middle of noplace, isn't it? _

_So...why are they_ really _here? Is it because...?_

Gene's thoughts came as quick and bright as the trapar stream beneath him, all the way home.

**-****#****- **

**-****#****- **

**-****#****- **

**Chapter ****Nine**

**-****#****- **

**-****#****- **

"For years," muttered Rick, "I always wondered why Dad griped so much about his uniform. So when the Temple staff had this one made for me, I made sure it was all soft on the inside." He did up the last of the gold chest buttons and touched the embroidered InterDominion patch on his right breast. "But it _still_ itches."

Ariadne smiled at the familiar refrain and poked about in her jewelry case. "And you look fine in it, just as he does. These rooms are rather nice, don't you think? In a rustic way, I mean."

Never entirely sure that they might not be overheard - or by whom - he answered her with the neural node on his forehead. _ - Yeah, well, Shiretoko isn't exactly a luxury resort, is it? I kind of get the idea that there's not a lot of money to spare around here. That formal dinner must've set them back a good bit._

_I don't think so. The food was good, but simple. Almost a relief, after all those boring, elaborate gourmet banquets back at the City, that leave you hungry again half an hour later. And the dance tonight will be wonderful, won't it? I love dancing, and it'll all be so exciting and different, out here in the countryside._

_- I guess so. You planning on getting dressed, though? Or are you gonna go like _that? He held her close for a long kiss, feeling her wings quiver behind.

_I may not go at all, if you keep_ that _up_. She wriggled free, her cheeks ruddy and eager. _So it must wait till later. We have our duty, you know_.

"Duty," Rick grunted. "Always _duty_. Don't worry, I haven't forgotten why we're here." He lifted the hanger bearing her silky black gown from one of the heavy varnished wooden beams of their room. "Here, go ahead and cover up. Not that it covers all that much."

"Jealous?" With a pert smile, Ariadne wriggled into the filmy fabric, rippling it like a spill of ink down over her body. "Help me get it around my wings, won't you? You're quite the catch, too, you know. I'm sure that the girls will all have their eyes on _you_ tonight. Why can't you just make the best of all this? It's not as if we have anything very pressing to _do_. Just be a charming couple, listen to their complaints and assure them that the InterDominion is doing its best to give them what they want. That's not so much, is it?"

Before he could answer, a soft rap sounded at their door. Instinctively, Rick stepped between Ariadne and the doorway. "Yeah? Who's there?"

"Nina Kotova, Your Highness."

Rick folded his wings once again. Nina Kotova - one of the two Guardians of the Flame assigned to them. "Something wrong?"

"No, sir. But it's nine-fifteen. The Shiretoko Event Committee is expecting you in the Ballroom. You're to greet the important guests before the dancing can begin."

He rolled his eyes, watching Ariadne fasten a fine gold chain around her neck, her elbows lifted in a very appealing way. "Uh, okay. We'll be right out. Thanks."

Ariadne slipped on her black sandals and twirled around. "I'm ready," she said. Not trusting himself to answer, Rick took her hand and they marched together to meet their duty.

-#-

Gene walked up the long Promenade to the Grange Hall feeling very conspicuous, trying not to squirm against the restraints of his unaccustomed formal suit. With the setting sun, the Promenade had come alive with lights, even more than the town Meisters would normally allocate for such high public occasions as the autumn Harvest Fest. Trees lining the walkways glittered with nets of twinkling piezo crystals, and the Hall's pillared portico glowed under golden spotlights in honor of the royal visitors. Above the Promenade itself, blue solar globes bobbed in the twilight, turning the commonplace street to a liquid pathway of dreams.

A long bus paused in front of the Hall to disgorge whispering guests in fine dress, who stared and smiled at the transformed Grange Hall and its undercurrent of exotic excitement. Here and there, even the occasional private vehicle nosed in to the parking green across the Grange Plaza. Ladies in elegant gowns and their moneyed escorts emerged, waved to each other and hurried along in little groups, caught up in the fever of the greatest social event in Shiretoko's brief ten-year history. _Looks like everybody who owns a suit or a gown has dragged'em out of the closet to come here tonight._

Ruefully brushing at the silver piping of his own evening jacket, Gene realized for the first time that the outfit was at least three years out of date. _Well, how the hell'm_ I_ to keep us with this stuff? It's not like harvester mechanics spend a lot of time sucking up to the big shots at the Grange Hall on weekends. I should've at least brought a girl, though. If I could find one. __Maria Wolf__'s stuck on that smartass __Ernst Wallfisch__ guy - or, at least, on his rich daddy's milling business. Kirsten Flagstadt's _always_ got a date already - except with me. Maybe if I'd had more time to..._

Someone's arm brushed his, interrupting his bitter meditations. "Uh, sorry," he said at once. But the aloof dandy in the blue shimmersuit paid Gene no more attention than an errant leaf from one of the dapplewood trees. He breezed on, chattering to the ample maiden at his arm, who laughed loudly at his soft remarks.

Gene brooded, struggling in turn with resentment and a growing sensation of foolishness; of intruding in a refined and essentially alien world. But he straightened his spine and walked on, refusing to back out or give in to embarrassment. _It's my town as much as anybody else's,_ he told himself. _It's a public ball, and I'm damn well _public_. So here I come_.

-#-

"Esteemed people of Shiretoko," announced Burgomeister Lescault into his microphone at the head of the Hall. Three spotlights converged upon him, throwing dancing reflections from his gilt epaulets.

Ariadne and Rick waited patiently in a dim alcove off to one side, their four guards - now in full evening dress - surrounding them. Rick, who'd heard the same introductory speech in a thousand variations, listened with only half an ear.

- _This hall's bigger than I thought. What's it used for when they don't have _us _around?_

_The Grange is an association of farmers, who meet each quarter to vote on local affairs in a strictly democratic way. There must be a lot of them, so they need a lot of space. Public social events are also held here. Didn't you read the background material the Ministry gave us?_

_- Yeah, but I'm not like you. I can't memorize these things just from skimming them._ He reached out to stroke the wall to his right._ This is some kind of synthfoam, blue-hardened. This Guild Hall _looks _like some huge stone masterpiece, but it's really just synthetic girders matrixed in sculpted foam. Seems like these people don't have a lot of money, but they're_ proud,_ and they want everybody to know it. That means we've got to be careful not to seem like we're slighting them in any way._

Ariadne turned minutely to look his way, her eyes round. _Yes, that's true. You're thinking just like an actual _prince_, now, aren't you?_

"I'm - " he began, when the Burgomeister carried on with his introduction.

"We have, every one of us, accomplished a very great deal in the decade since the founding of our town and our province. And tonight, I know all of us take deep pleasure in knowing that the InterDominion itself has chosen to acknowledge our contribution to the success of this new experiment of ours, far from the oppressive hand of the Federation at last." A patter of token applause rose and died; Rick heroically smothered a yawn. "Symbolic of this new era is the presence of two of our most distinguished citizens tonight. Please join me in welcoming our very special guests...Prince Maurice and Princess Ariadne!"

-#-

The introduction echoed all through the Grand Hall just as Gene managed to slither his way inside, sucking in his breath to squeeze past a well-fed couple craning their necks to see. _Dammit, I should've gotten here a lot sooner. I've gotta hurry..._

-#-

The applause grew real, now, building to a sustained thunder that reverberated from the walls as Ariadne and Rick ascended to the speaker's platform. From somewhere, a baroque symphonic fanfare accompanied them.

- _It's just a recording_, said Rick. _That little brass band this morning was probably the closest thing to a real orchestra they've got around here_. He put on his most ingratiating smile and waved as though it were the first reception he'd ever attended in his lifetime.

_Yes, I suppose the dance music will be recorded, too. They're really doing everything they can to make this a memorable occasion. These are very warmhearted people_.

On either side of the microphone, they bowed, hand in hand. Then Ariadne stepped forward, wings spread and gleaming in the brilliant lights. "Thank you! Thank you so much, everyone! My husband and I are very grateful for..."

-#-

Breathless, almost frantic, Gene pushed and weaved his way through the ecstatic throng, edging in and out like the driver of a high-speed automobile in a tight race. Sweat trickled into one eye; he wiped it away without pausing and plowed on, oblivious to the snarls of annoyance he left in his wake. With the Princess already beginning to speak, it would be only minutes before the reception line formed. _And no matter_ who_ I tick off, I'm_ not _gonna be at the end_. _I'm_ tired _of always being at the end_.

-#-

Ariadne concluded her remarks and backed away from the microphone, to another roar of appreciation from the packed hall. Rick moved out to take her place, putting on his Concerned and Sincere face, the one he'd learned from Adrock Thurston's recorded orations. "People of Shiretoko," he began without pleasantries, aiming for a forceful image, "my wife and I are more than happy to be here in a place that really knows how to make strangers feel welcome."

He waited for the expected cheers before picking up with flawless timing, just before they faded. "But all the same, this isn't only a social occasion. Back in the Heart of the World, we understand what a big job you've all been doing - even though we haven't been able to do much for you in return. As you might've heard...money's tight all over."

The understated expression of solidarity brought both laughter and cheers, in appreciation of Rick's acknowledgement that the young InterDominion's financial straits were not limited to Shiretoko alone.

"Well, tonight, we've come to announce that we finally _can_ do something for you. We spoke with the Ag Ministry and Prime Minister Egan just this morning, and we can now announce that better things _are_ on the way. As a first step, we're going to begin construction on a railway line between here and the Heart of the World, starting next month..."

-#-

Gene's feet slid on the slick ceramic flooring and he saved himself from a fall only by snatching one arm about the waist of a woman in a taffeta gown. Her companion aimed an angry blow at him, but he skated past and deeper into the crowd as applause thundered on all sides. _Almost there...that's gotta be the head of the reception line, there, where that rich gasbag Lescault and his wife're standing. I'll move a little further down, and wait just behind_...

-#-

"...and so," Ariadne summed up, "the InterDominion _does_ recognize the importance of agriculture to our survival, and it is now taking the initiative in seeing that we _all_ share in our common future. Thank you all for the enormous amount of work you've put into making this land so amazingly productive. In the future, we'd like you to know that you're not working alone. Thank you!"

-#-

With everyone so completely absorbed in cheering the Princess' speech, Gene managed to bull his way to the reception line, ignoring the scathing looks that followed him, muttering insincere "excuse mes" with every push and shove. Up on the dais, the royal visitors bowed to their entranced audience, then followed the Burgomeister to the dance floor, where he led them to the head of the line.

"How good to see you, Burgomeister," burbled Anthony Salieri, General Manager of the Shiretoko Wheat Processing Facility. "Is your daughter in attendance tonight?"

Gene noticed that the question seemed to cause Lescault some measure of embarrassment. "She was...otherwise occupied, Mr. Salieri. Your Highnesses, if you would please come this way...?"

The Prince and Princess moved slowly nearer, sparing a smile and a few token words of appreciation to each local dignitary as they passed. Gene's heart pounded as he straightened his cravat and strained for an air of sophisticated _ennui_. He swallowed with a dry throat._ By the Three Lords, she's_ beautiful! _And the Prince looks like something out of an old fairy tale. Compared to them, I must be like some ditch-digging clod. I wish I'd bought a better suit. Is my hair combed? Should I've shaved again? Did I - ?_

All at once, they stood - _she_ stood - before him, flashing that heartbreaking smile and waiting for an introduction. _Oh, crap! Lescault doesn't know me so he _can't_ make an introduction! He doesn't look any too happy. He'll know, they'll all know, I don't belong here. She's_ waiting,_ dammit, she's_ waiting! _Say_ something!

"G-good evening, Your Majesties," he croaked. And then on purest impulse, half-remembering something he'd once seen in a historical video, he reached out and took her hand, then, with an awkward bow, kissed it. "Have you...have you come about the...the Dancers?"

All around him gasps of horror hissed like a volcanic fissure, and he realized at once what a colossal blunder it had been. Gene stood, paralyzed and speechless, alone with his burning face and his utter humiliation.

But the Princess only went on smiling, and faced him fully. "Are there going to be dancers here tonight? Professional ones, I mean."

Prince Maurice looked Gene's way with open curiosity. "Nobody's introduced us. I'm Rick Thurston." And to Gene's astonishment, the Prince took his still-extended hand and shook it in a casual way. "What's this about dancers?"

"It's nothing, Your Highnesses, nothing," said Lescault, beginning to sweat as he hurried the royal pair along. "Just some foolish local legend." He spared Gene a glare of purest loathing. "Childish nonsense, spread by the ignorant and the immature. Go _home_, boy. And now, my Lord and Lady, if you please...?"

Two well-dressed couples - they had to be undercover security guards, Gene realized with horror - materialized out of nowhere, moving his way. His will seemed to be frozen, unable to function. _I'm in the soup now, for sure. What the hell came over me? And in front of the whole damn town! What'll I do now? I can't run; they'll grab me in seconds_ -

"_Get out, corrupters!_" From near the eastern entryway to the Hall, a ragged chant began, loud and hostile. "_No unelected royalty for the people! Back where you came from, aristocrats!_" An answering rumble of indignation spread through the crowd.

At once, the four guards pressed in a tight circle about the royal couple, RPP pistols drawn. The tiny intruding group unfolded placards, holding them high on thin collapsible sticks. NO PATRICIAN ELITES, read one; POWER ONLY TO THE PEOPLE said another. The chanting began again, shrill, fanatical. Answering shouts of outrage erupted from the guests in the Hall, and, though it was hard for Gene to be certain, it seemed that a scuffle was breaking out between the protesters and several furious townspeople. "Police!" bellowed Lescault over the sound system. "Arrest them all!"

_This's the only chance I'm gonna get,_ Gene decided, and ducked, running through the crowd with head down. The recorded music played on, unheeding, as he charged blindly, darting this way and that beneath the surging press of humanity, in the general direction of the southerly exit.

-#-

Rick watched the spectacle without visible emotion as his rage grew inside. _Antipats_, he flashed to Ariadne. _Even out here in the boondocks. Can't we get _away_ from those morons?_

- _Just let the local police forces take care of it. We must stay where we are and look dignified, remember?_

_Sure. Sure, I remember. You don't have to remind me._

-#-

Still running with head held low, Gene found himself able to slip through the audience with less resistance, now that everyone's attention seemed diverted to the opposite end of the Hall. He risked straightening up and found, to his intense relief, that the southern archway stood open to the concealing night not three meters away. _That was just too damn close._ But before ducking out the doorway, he risked turning over his shoulder to see just what might be going on.

Across the Hall, a small knot of irate protesters made a commotion all out of proportion to their numbers, waving signs and screaming out insults, most of which seemed aimed at the Prince and Princess. For an instant, Gene even considered joining those townsfolk beating the troublemakers away, but then he spotted the dull-green uniforms of Shiretoko Police Constabulary converging on the intruders, and changed his mind. _Morons. What the hell d'they think they're accomplishing, anyhow? This is a_ -

Something about the size of a dark melon rose up out of the protesters' midst, sailing in a high trajectory, arcing toward...

_What's _that?_ It's gonna land on_...her!

-#-

Ariadne and Rick spotted the onrushing projectile at once. In less than an instant, their minds locked together as all four of their eyes gauged its trajectory. They kicked out on all sides, knocking their well-meaning bodyguards aside and raised their arms forward even as they created a whirl of intense trapar within them.

-#-

From the place where the Princess and Prince had to be standing, Gene watched a brilliant shaft of greenish light lance up into the air above the dance floor, intercepting the dark object, stopping it instantly. The column of emerald fire lifted it higher, three meters, four, until it hovered just beneath the roof, surrounded by a sphere of roiling flame. And then the sphere clouded, snapping to opacity, accompanied by a distant _thump_ of compressing air. When the globe of light cleared, Gene could see a clutter of black fragments filling its lower half, harmless and still. _Holy Trimurti and Broma Above! That was a_ bomb!_ And those two just reached out and neutralized it before it could even fall. They're even more powerful than I thought. And I...had the nerve to_ touch _her!_

Outraged, the surrounding police now pressed in with savage vigor upon the would-be assassins. Gene heard the sizzle of stunners rising and falling with brutal efficiency as they abandoned all restraint in their counterattack. Placards fell to the floor; screams jangled in the air, discordant against the elegant background music. Cheers broke out as the massed police officers quickly prevailed.

_Oh, crap, they'll be sealing all the exits, soon_, Gene realized. _And Lescault already probably thinks_ I'm_ one of those troublemakers. What a mess. Time to get out while I still can._

He slipped out the eastern entrance, into the night, praying no one had recognized him, the anticipated evening of bliss lying in splinters and wreckage beneath his fleeing feet.

**-****#****- **

**-****#****- **

**-****#****- **

**Chapter ****Ten**

**-****#****- **

**-****#****- **

In her clinging deep-blue evening gown, Nina Kotova still looked glamorous in an exceedingly dangerous way as she ran a scanner around the windows of their quarters. "You should not have pushed us out of the way, Your Highnesses," she said through tight scarlet lips.

Rick watched with a patience he could not feel. "We already _told_ you about that - we couldn't risk you all getting hurt by the trapar energies when we snagged that bomb. And if we hadn't done it fast, who knows how many Shiretoko people would have been hurt, or even worse?"

Nina's partner, Jack Offenbach, looked on, still fingering the needle gun at his side. "Nevertheless, Sir, it was unwise of you to go on with the dance afterward. For three hours, you were _both_ vulnerable to another attack, out there on a crowded dance floor. Even with us dancing next to you the entire time."

"We appreciate your concern," said Ariadne, draped barefoot over an overstuffed armchair. "And I'm sorry to have kept you dancing so long. But we _can't_ be seen to be intimidated by fanatics. We have a responsibility to represent the InterDominion, and we can't do that if we run from dangers we have the power to stop."

Nina gave her a skeptical look that was not quite a glare. "Forgive my impudence, Lady, but you're thinking in political terms. We of the Guardians must consider only the safety of the Blessed Ones."

Before Rick could come up with a suitable comeback, a knock sounded at the heavy wooden door. Both Jack and Nina dropped into combat positions, aiming their sidearms squarely at the doorway. "Who is it?" called Nina, her tone implying that the answer had better be a good one.

"It's me, Carl Lowe. And Emiri's with me. We're working with you, remember? IPF Security? We've got Mr. Lescault with us."

Rick watched Jack and Nina exchange hard-edged glances in a showy way. _They've been watching too many videos,_ he flashed to Ariadne.

She smiled but did not laugh. _But they're doing their honest best to protect us, all the same._

"Okay, you can enter. But no sudden moves." Nina held her needler a few millimeters higher.

The two IPF agents came into the room with the Burgomeister, slamming and locking the door behind them. Carl Lowe smirked at the two crouching Guardians. "Crap on a cracker, but you Temple guys are jumpy. Emiri and I thought you'd be all serene and meditative, lecturing us on how to fit everything into Vodarek's Will."

"Hello, Mr. Lescault," said Rick, before an argument could break out. The evening had been tense enough already. "Was anyone hurt by that gang of Antipats?"

"Hurt? No, My Lord. Not at all - thanks to you and Lady Ariadne." The man kept wringing his hands in front of his chest, as though expecting to be sent at any moment to a dungeon in disgrace. "I cannot _begin_ to apologize sincerely enough for this terrible, terrible..._incident_, your Majesties. None of us were even aware that such subversive elements _existed_ in our province, let alone right here in Shiretoko."

"Maybe they didn't, at least until a couple of days ago," said Lowe. "Your local constables did a good job of rounding them up and questioning them. Seems that they're not really political at all, just a bunch of half-baked student drunks from your College of Agriculture, looking to raise hell and getting a lot more than they bargained for."

Offenbach frowned, his soft brown eyes contracting to glassy bullets. "Not political? But those signs, and those slogans..."

"Not made by them," answered Emiri before he could finish. "According to their stories, a couple of strangers taught them the chants and passed out the folding signs while they were all getting liquored up together. So far, their stories all stand up to investigation."

"Outside agitators, then." Nina finally lowered her needle gun. "And the bomb?"

"The drunks claim not to have known anything about any bomb. The device was apparently supplied and thrown by one of the outsiders. Thanks to the Prince and Princess' quick work in containing it, we have its remains to study. There'll be a team from the Heart of the World here in a few hours to analyze them."

Ariadne got up and went to Rick's side. "Where are these 'outsiders,' then? Didn't anyone capture _them?_"

"No, My Lady. They evidently planned this little operation well, and disappeared just after they tossed their bomb. It was no amateur affair. I think it's...possible that there was something a little more psychoactive than alcohol in whatever it was they supplied to those damn students."

"That's a pretty roundabout way to try to kill somebody," said Rick. "Unreliable, too."

Lowe shrugged uncomfortably. "Unless killing you wasn't their only goal, Sir. It could have been simply to disrupt your visit and make the Royal Family look bad - or make the Antipats look more numerous than they are. But the experts from the Heart of the World will be better able to determine that."

"I _saw_ one," insisted Lescault, rage coloring his face. "I _personally_ saw one of those vile outsider assassins approach Their Highnesses, just prior to the riot and the bombing. It was a boy - well, someone who _looked_ like a boy of nineteen or so, though it's hard enough to be certain these days. He reached right out and snatched at the Princess' arm."

Rick, nineteen himself, objected to being characterized as a "boy," but Ariadne spoke first. "Him? That's silly. He didn't _attack_ me, he kissed my hand. Very stiff and formal, I thought, but it certainly wasn't dangerous. And he wasn't throwing bombs or shouting slogans."

"Exactly what _did_ he say, My Lady?" asked Offenbach. "We were close enough to see him speaking and started to move in ourselves, but we couldn't hear him over the music and the chatter of the crowd."

Without hesitation, she answered, "He said... He said 'Have you come about the...the Dancers?'"

Rick noticed the Burgomeister's eyes go wide for an instant, but pretended to have seen nothing. "That's right, I heard him, too. I asked him what he meant, and that was when that demonstration started, and he got scared and ran away."

"To join his comrades, I don't doubt," said Lescault. "It must have been a signal! Find that young troublemaker and you'll find your outsider bombers, mark my words. This town cannot..."

"Who _are_ 'the Dancers?'" broke in Rick.

"What?"

"I asked him what he was talking about, but he never got a chance to answer me. What does it mean?"

Lescault flushed again. "I...don't know. Some kind of ghost story, told by children and the gullible. It was just to confuse you; it's meaningless nonsense...Sir."

_He's lying again, Rick._

_- I know. But I can't figure why_.

Emiri Miyamoto stretched, very conspicuously. "Your Highnesses, I think we've done all that we can, until reinforcements get here from the Heart of the World. The room's been scanned thoroughly and nothing's out of place." She inclined her head toward the pair of IPF operatives. "I know you two've arranged for local police to patrol this building all night, both inside and out. I suggest we each take three-hour shifts guarding the front door until morning. Agreed?"

Carl and Emiri looked to each other. "Agreed. In fact, I'll take the first watch." Carl lowered his head respectfully toward Ariadne and Rick. "Your Highnesses, we're sorry you had to be subjected to this ordeal - and that none of us were able to prevent it. Thank you for your patience. We'll leave you in peace, now."

As the five of them filed out, Jack Offenbach turned over his shoulder. He made it appear to be a casual afterthought, but neither Rick nor Ariadne were fooled. "Er...Sir and Lady...will you still be judging for the reffing tournament tomorrow?"

"We _must_ be," said Ariadne. "We've already explained that we can't allow ourselves to show intimidation."

Offenbach sighed, the weary wheeze of a man hearing expected but very unwelcome news. "Yes. Your will is the Will of Vodarek, of course. Sleep well, Your Highnesses."

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**Chapter ****Eleven**

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In his mind, Gene continued to relive the events of the previous night, even while he snapped shut the clasps of his reffing boot. The temporary Athletes' Changing Room knocked together by volunteers from the town had been painted only a day or two previous, and the fumes lent a dangerous giddiness to his already taut nerves.

Someone whacked him on one shoulder. He looked up, to find Augie Duranowski, Shiretoko's top competitor in the Speed Reffing category, grinning down at him. "You all whizzed up an' ready to knock'em out today, ole buddy?"

"I guess so." _Lay off, will you, Augie? That kind of hotshot talk was okay when we were kids, but this is a District tournament._ "I'll let you know after it's over."

Augie frowned. "You okay, buddy? You sound kind of down about something."

"Maybe." Sensing his genuine concern, Gene knew a quick stab of shame. "I...went to the big reception last night. Kind of upset me, I guess. Uh, seeing those moron bomb-tossers make all Shiretoko look so damn bad, y'know?"

"_You_ were at the big dance, with the Prince and Princess? Holy crap! You've gotta tell me all about it, tonight." He drew back in alarm, just before the shoulder of his blue ref jacket could contact the still-soft paint on Gene's locker door. "Y'know, we're really getting into the _big_ time, now, you and me. Who would've ever guessed it, back in the Federation, that a couple of little kids on homemade ref boards'd ever be _here_, aiming for a shot at the National Championship of the New Lands?"

Gene cinched up the other boot, then straightened to seal his jacket and tug on both gauntlets. Experimentally, he touched the studs inside the boots with his toes and watched the amber glow-strips flash, confirming that the electromagnets in the soles were in working order. "Yeah, I guess."_ Is it really such a big deal, though? I'm nineteen, and even if I go all the way to the Nationals, I'll still be just a harvester mechanic in my dad's shop when I get home. Is_ that _what I want to do, spend the rest of my long life staring at my old trophies and remembering what it was like to actually_ be_ somebody?_ "I guess I'm just a little - "

A harsh buzzer from outside cut him short. "That's the signal for everybody to line up for the opening ceremonies," said Augie. Beyond the thin wall to the rear, a scramble of booted feet told them that the competitors on the girls' side of the changing room were already on their way out. "Too bad we couldn'ta been over _there_ to get suited up. I bet _that_ woulda improved your mood, huh?" He emphasized the point with rolling eyes and a comical leering grin.

Gene hefted his helmet and gave it yet another brief once-over. "Sure. Listen, I wanna just make one more little check before I go out, okay? You go grab your board and get out with the others; I'll be along in just a sec."

"Sure thing, buddy."

When he was gone, and Gene stood alone in the makeshift dressing room, he took a long, deep breath and strained, unsuccessfully, to clear the multiplying doubts from his mind. _There's a Vodarek temple in town, somewhere. I heard they teach you all kinds of meditation. Maybe I need to give them a try. If it's not too late_.

The second buzzer sounded. He tucked his helmet under one arm and made his way to the board rack next to the doorway. Time to face the morning.

-#-

A trumpet fanfare blasted through the brilliant air over the competition field. At the apex of the reviewing stand, seated in the front row with the other ten judges, Ariadne and Maurice watched the reffers, gathered from across the Honshu Administrative District. The male and female contestants marched to the field side by side, in strict military ranks that reminded Rick uncomfortably of a Federation Ground Forces Drill Parade he had seen years before in Bellforest.

- _Kind of makes me wish_ I'd_ done some competitive reffing_, he confessed to Ariadne.

_You needn't have any regrets. The reffing you did five years ago went far beyond anything we'll see here today._

The brass band wound up with a noisy flourish, and all the reffers stopped at the center of the field, turning in formation to face the judges and the ranked rows of onlookers in the bleachers. Burgomeister Lescault rose from his seat at the front of the reviewing stand and stepped to the microphone.

"People of the Honshu district! Welcome to this first District reffing tournament, and welcome to our city..."

As the man droned on, Rick let his eyes roam around the semicircular bleachers that stretched out like curved wings on either side of the field. Here and there, he spotted spectators who paid little attention to either the athletes or the Burgomeister, but looked from side to side with quick, practiced glances, sharp with suspicion. They would be the undercover IPF Security agents who had flown in during the night, after the embarrassing disruption at the Ball. Adding to the effect of an armed siege were the uniformed Shiretoko police openly patrolling the bleachers. _Not exactly what you'd call a lighthearted atmosphere for a sports event_, decided Rick.

"...and our honored guest judges, _Prince Maurice and Princess Ariadne!_"

Ariadne tugged at Rick's hand, pulling him from his reverie, and they both stood, bowing to the thunderous cheers of the crowd. _Y'know...if somebody_ really _wanted t'kill us, we make a great target up here_.

- _Yes, I know. That's what Emiri kept saying. I didn't want to alarm her by agreeing, but I think it would be only sensible for us to Join, don't you?_

_Well...I kind of thought they were overdoing it, but up here in the stands, out in the open this way, I guess I can see their point. Okay._

As they sat down once more, a barely-perceptible flicker illuminated the neural nodes on their foreheads, and they slid unnoticed into a single conjoined mind.

-#-

The wind socks at the edges of the competition field snapped in a northwesterly breeze that still left Gene Onegin sweating under the summer sun. On the high judges' platform, the Royal couple waited for the applause to settle down, then sat themselves as the competitors gave them the Athlete's Salute. Burgomeister Lescault declared the games to be officially begun and, with another trumpet blast, they all marched to the team benches at the edge of the field, there to await the first round of the Mens' and Womens' Freestyle Aerobatics. Gene dropped himself to the hard bench, gripping his helmet and casting an occasional furtive glance up to the judges. _This is it, Gene, old boy. This is what you've been working for. This is when you get to finally_ be _somebody._ He imagined he could pick out Ariadne's dazzling face, even at this distance. _Will _she_ be handing out the trophies?_

The whistle for the first Men's Precision Competition round shrilled. Out on the field, a black-suited contestant bearing the number 48 twirled his board into the air and rolled into a perfect arm-forward stance with plenty of showy acrobatics. He rose into the sky on a ripple of trapar flame and Gene tensed his jaw, watching with a critical eye.

Number 48 rose quickly into the face of the trapar current and, even before finishing his climb, executed a Three-Sixty-Windmill, the 360-degree spin across the face of the flow. _Nice form_, Gene had to admit, _but it's still pretty basic stuff. _

Carving up and down to gain momentum, Number 48 flew into a splashy Off-the-Rim that took him over the flow, then back down into the pressure face, hovering on a difficult Frontside Pause that drew applause from the grandstands. Gene scowled and watched with growing worry as the reffer let himself drop lower into the impact zone of the current, obviously aiming for a Bottom Turn that would give him the momentum to climb. Just as the board tipped upward at the nadir of the arc, Number 48 leaned into a Cross Step, moving with tiny steps toward the board's rear, shifting his center of gravity, blipping the magnets in his boots with precise rhythm, almost tiptoeing.

But at that moment, the trapar current faltered, for only an instant. Everyone on the benches rose as one, looking on with dread as Number 48 separated from his board and went spiraling downward toward the ground a hundred and ten meters below. Immediately he deployed his parasail; the cords jerked taut and he drifted in a slow circle to the grass, where he landed upright, then snatched off his helmet and hurled it to the ground in disgust. Gene joined in the sympathetic applause, but could not suppress an inner satisfaction at having one less obstacle in his path to the Championship Cup. _You're pretty good, bud. But you made the big mistake of counting on the trapar t'be_ just perfect _while you did __your routine. But Old Man Trapar's a tricky bastard. Not having a backup plan is the best way I know to wash out._

"Our sympathies and gratitude go to Number 48," crackled the amplified voice from the judging stand, "All of the Honshu Administrative District salutes you for an excellent attempt, Sándor Kónya of Mito Village! And now we begin the Women's Precision Competition with Number Seventy-Three..."

Gene rubbed his hands, wiped sweat from his forehead and peered again up toward Princess Ariadne in the judging stand, so very high, so very far away._ When'll the randomizer pull _my _number? I've gotta do better than that Kónya guy. I_ will _do better! I will!_

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**Chapter ****Twelve**

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Fuming under the brilliant morning sun outside the Project dome, Dr. Morita made a great show of consulting his wrist chronometer yet again. "It's nearly five minutes past nine," he said, shading his eyes as he looked to the sky. "This 'concealment expert' of Egan's is late. If he expects to impress us with his efficacy, he is already making an extremely poor start."

Soniya, absorbed in the readouts of the String Charge Calculator in her left hand, did not reply at once. "Not everyone keeps to schedules as rigorously as you do. Be patient; he'll arrive. Let the Will of Vodarek unfold in its own time. I suppose you still haven't been told his - or her - name?"

"No. Not a syllable. Gregory is as close-mouthed as always." Morita thrust both hands into the pockets of his stained lab coat. "This entire matter is foolish in any case. Allowing a group of ignorant politicians - some of whom are sympathetic to the Federation to an unwholesome degree - to blunder about a highly secret advanced technological project is nothing short of madness. Just what is it expected to achieve?"

"Our continued funding," she reminded him. "Look, there's someone coming up the road."

"The _road?_" Dr. Morita squinted into the desert's glare. Yes, there, a ragged plume of dust making its way up the unpaved dirt path that wound its way to the horizon. "I took it for granted that he would arrive by air. He _should_ have arrived by air; this is highly inefficient and a waste of precious time all around..."

He trailed off into a fidgety silence until a small, four-seat military vehicle hummed to a stop in front of the facility's main entrance. Two security guards emerged from inside at once, rifles ready, but Morita motioned them to come no further unless necessary.

The single passenger inside shifted as though gathering up some equipment or other behind the sundim glass. Then the driver-side door rose up to reveal a dapper, grinning man in a stylish suit just fractionally too loud to be in the best of taste. He held a briefcase in one hand; with the other he reached out toward Morita. "Morning, Doctor," said Matt Stoner with a blazing smile. "Morning, Soniya, you're looking good. Helluva long drive out here from the spot where the transport dropped me and my car off. Hope I'm not too late."

Morita blinked. "Mr. _Stoner?_ Surely there is some mistake. Dr. Egan told me he was dispatching an expert in - "

"In deception? Yeah, well I'm a journalist, remember? I know as much as anybody about lying with a straight face. Hey, how about we go inside? This heat's a killer. You guys sure know how to put a place where nobody'd stumble over it accidentally. I'll park the car later."

One of the guards saluted and stepped forward with a metal-cased instrument bearing a blunt probe on a coiled cord. "Excuse me, sir, but we're ordered to confirm your identity with a DNA-resonance scan before you can enter."

"Sure, Dominic warned me about that. Go right ahead, reporters're supposed to have thick skin, after all." He looked up at the huge silvery heat-reflective dome. "Nice place you've got here. You must be getting your water from deep underground. What're you doing for electric power? You're too far off any Ley Lines to be tapping the planetary grid. What _do_ you use? I don't see any solar arrays. Is it ionic reactors, shielded to keep from leaving energy signatures?"

Morita's jaw tightened. The man's guesses were shrewd, well-informed, accurate and uncomfortably quick. Journalist or not, Information Minister Matthew Stoner was no one's fool. "I have been ordered to give you full cooperation, Mr. Stoner. All your questions will be answered inside."

The guard withdrew his probe and saluted again. "Everything tallies, Minister Stoner. Welcome to the Pinwheel."

"Thanks. Now, Doctor, I've got _one_ question that's been nagging at me since Egan asked me to take this assignment. What _is_ this 'Pinwheel' of yours? What's going _on_ out here in this wasteland?"

Morita cringed, regretting at once his irrational desire to silence Stoner, as though the desert itself might have unfriendly ears. "Let us go inside, Mr. Stoner. Inside, you will see...the heart of the dragon."

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**Chapter ****Thirteen**

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From the bench, Gene watched a delicate tracery of trapar high overhead, looping and pirouetting within itself. Beneath his thermosealed competition skins, he began to sweat.

"Y'know, she's really pretty damn good."

"Mm."

Ben Britten, one of his teammates from Anjou Town, six kilometers away, nudged him hard against one arm. "I said she's pretty damn good, Onegin. Hey, snap out of the trance, okay? You're not gonna ref worth crap up there today, if you keep on voiding out like that."

"Yeah. I'm just kind of wound up, I guess." With immense effort, he pulled himself back from his feverish worry about just how badly he needed to make a major showing today. _He's right. I'm thinking too much. My mind's gotta be on the board and nothing else. Without concentration, I'm dead in the air._ "Who _is_ it up there, anyhow?"

"Dunno. The announcer said number thirty-seven, but with the Committee handing out random numbers to everybody, who knows? Hey, you're _one_-thirty-seven. Maybe it's an omen, huh?" He made a bizarre grimace, imitating a demon of ill portent.

Gene raked hair back from his eyes with one hand, grateful for the brief wind. "Don't give me anything _more_ to worry about, okay?" He lifted his eyes to the current Women's competitor, now running though an intricate series of figure-eight Face Crawls. Six contestants from both the Men's and Women's leagues had already done their routines in the sky, with varying levels of expertise, and still his number had not been called. Gene's stomach burned with the tension. He shaded his eyes against a sun now climbing toward noon. "She _is_ pretty good, isn't she? Must be from down near the river delta towns; I've never seen skins in that color around here."

Eve as he spoke, she sent her board into an amazing high-velocity spin, holding out both arms to catch the air at an angle and add to her speed. Still whirling, her skins and helmet an indistinct blur, she dropped toward the ground, lower, lower...

Gene jumped to his feet, alarmed. Behind him, he could hear the collective intake of breath in a thousand throats as the horrified spectators watched what could only be a fatal miscalculation, one that must end with the twirling girl shattered on the earth below. "_Pull out, dammit!_" he screamed, throwing off his own fears and doubts, _willing_ her to tack into the trapar face and send herself across its pressure wave in a flaming show of speed. But still she fell, a dart from the sky, with dwindling seconds left...

"_Pull..._" But she did _not_ pull out. Instead, number Thirty-Seven snapped her board side-on to the wave face, canceling her rotary inertia with a single sharp braking maneuver that Gene knew had to have required enormous leg strength to control. Coming to a gentle stall less than a meter above the grassy field, she let the board drop out from beneath her, hopping to the ground, wavering only minutely from the dizziness she had to be experiencing, holding her arms high in a joyous celebration of confidence and victory.

The bleachers roared their approval, everyone standing, clapping, stamping and cheering for Thirty-Seven's audacious finale. Gene let out his breath, then turned to see even the Prince and Princess on their feet, applauding as enthusiastically as anyone. On the field, the girl sprinted back to the Women's bench without the customary ritual of removing her helmet and bowing to the onlookers.

"She must be _really_ stoked after _that_ one," said Ben, still clapping as if to wear out his hands. "They haven't announced her name; wonder why. Kind of insulting, if you ask..."

"Number One-Thirty-Seven," called the announcer over the fading cheers. "The next Men's competitor is Number One-Thirty-Seven. Number One-Thirty-Seven to the field."

Gene's mind reeled at the words, terrified, exhilarated, frozen, aware of all eyes on him and his board and his yet-unproven skills... Ben Britten pounded at his shoulder. "That's _you_, old boy. Go _on_, Onegin, before they call somebody _else_."

_This is it._ He pulled tight his helmet, not hearing, not seeing the massed faces looking to him, all the force of his mind now channeled into the narrow tunnel of reality opening before him. Gene tucked the shortboard under one arm in a classic Approach Stance and ran with long, distance-eating strides to the center of the field. Then, whirling the board over one shoulder, he sent it to the grass and leaped aboard as it bounced up into the invisible trapar wind.

Once aloft, all of Gene's tension fell away like the dwindling ground below. Only the sky and the waves and the pressure of the rising board beneath his feet existed as he soared upward, free and wild. He climbed in wide, fluid loops, his autopolarizing faceplate flashing dark with each revolution into the sun.

The tiny _ping_ of his helmet altimeter announced he had reached competition altitude. But he needed no such reminder, for he could _feel_ the density of the trapar through feet and legs. Gene shifted his hips minutely and the board responded like an extension of his body. He crouched, arms held fore and aft for balance and aerodynamics, flying across the trapar face with increasing speed, then tilting upward into a Tiptoe Cutback, flipping himself up and over, to ride the pressure back the way he'd come. Green flames streamed out on either side, cresting in the perfect break of Transparence Light Particles against the reflective surface of the board.

"_Now_ we're movin'!" he cried for sheer joy. A series of Forward Jelly Rolls - one, two, three, four, five - all of them perfectly executed, pumped his confidence. The sky was _his_, and no one could take it from him, not up here, not now!

Sensing an eddy in the trapar, Gene crouched to curl into its spiral, climbing it upward in a high-speed helix almost too rapid to be real, then shooting out the top, dropping back to the main flow and riding it in an insouciant Floater that sent a gaudy rooster-tail of trapar flaring up behind. _Yes! Yes! I_ can_ do it!_

A faint chime sounded in his 'phones, signaling that only fifteen seconds remained of his alotted time in the air. _Okay, time for the big one! The Flying Roll Drop! Gene Onegin's own creation! All your money can't buy you _this, _you cocky richboys!_

With a predatory grin, he swept back and forth across the current, riding the pressure face, gaining speed, then rocketing up in a wild, controlled climb, up, _up_, curving over until he was completely head-down in the pure blue. And _then_, at the very apex of the arc, he disengaged the magnets in his boots and dropped free, separate from the still-flying ref board.

Down through the morning he swooped, like a dancer in a magnificent leap that lasted forever, free of gravity and rage and frustration and the things of the world. The Reffer's High took him, the peace he could never know below, and the universe held its breath as he dropped out of heaven itself.

And then quiet instinct roused him from his reverie and he toed the power studs in his boots, energizing the magnets to catch the board that he _knew_ even now was completing its perfect circle to pass beneath him. He tucked in his arms and legs and rolled to a feet-downward stance. Gene opened his eyes, watching the board dispassionately, curving down and under, balancing inertia against the strength of the trapar, guided by gravity and his own will. Closer, closer...at just the precise moment... Gene drew up his knees as the black blur of the board bore down on him.

And then, _something else._

_-__#-_

Twelve hundred kilometers to the south, Lark looked up from the dinner table, nearly dropping her fork. "Oh," she said.

"Anything wrong?" asked Kazuya, alert at once.

"No...nothing wrong. It's just that for a second, I felt..._something_." She chased the elusive memory, only to lose it like smoke, fading on the wind. "It's gone, now. Go on, don't let your omelet get cold."

-#-

A blaze of blue enveloped Gene. Sapphire rain filled his vision and drowned his thoughts. The ref board streaked by, a blur of black, but Gene could no longer remember why it had been so important. "_Thirty-Seven_," something chattered in his helmet, "_Thirty-Seven, deploy your parasail!_"

It echoed, over and over, and Gene - _Is that what I'm called? "Gene?"_ - regarded the excited little voice from an immense distance, with emotions and circular frames of logic he had never imagined. It all seemed so -

The blue shimmer vanished, passed into him, and he shouted, flailing, watching the ground roar up toward him. _The board. I'm falling. Where's the damned_ board?

Less than twenty-five meters distant, he saw it, completing its circular arc, its energy spent. It began to tumble, like himself, and fall. He groped for the D-ring of the emergency parasail, distracted, scrambled, disoriented and the seconds to impact drained away. He fumbled once more, felt his fingers contact cold metal. _Here. _This_ is the release cord!_ Gene grabbed it with a firm grip and -

A tremendous impact rammed him in the abdomen, blowing the breath from him. As he gyrated, breathless and dazed, he saw a _second_ reffer, incredibly less than a meter away, waving his arms and rolling, out of control. The intruder had no board. Gene fumbled for the D-ring again, but the other reffer clutched at his left leg, sending them both spinning end over end. _Too late._

Gene Onegin realized, then, that he had always wondered what his last thoughts would be. And it disappointed him, somehow, that they seemed to consist solely of _Get your stupid arms off my leg, you son of a bitch!_

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**Chapter ****Fourteen**

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Fear rumbled from the spectator stands on either side, screaming, shouting, crying out in helpless horror, shaking the bleachers themselves as thousands of onlookers stood watching the pair of reffers tumbling from the sky.

Maurice and Ariadne rose together.

_- They'll fall and die. We've gotta..._

_Yes._

Their minds locked as one, they spread their four wings and leaped from the judging stands in an explosion of trapar, blazing upward toward the doomed athletes.

-#-

Gene watched distantly as the unyielding ground came roaring up to meet both him and the clumsy teammate who wrapped both arms about his leg. He reached out toward the intruder's red helmet, touching it in a kind of benediction...

Brilliant green flames flowered around them, raging light yet no heat. The whistle of the wind died away at once, leaving Gene floating in a bubble of emerald silence. _Trapar_. Without any sense of deceleration, they drifted downward, now, slowly, in a controlled descent. Gene fought back a wave of nausea; gravity seemed to tug in conflicting directions, and faraway objects appeared nearer than he knew they should. Behind it all, the slow, deep rhythm of some immense _consciousness_ throbbed and boomed. His skin quivered as he and his companion touched the warmth of earth. The fire of trapar died away, unveiling the glaring face of reality once more.

The grandstands were in an uproar; team medics ran toward him, along with other people he didn't know. Gene rolled to his knees and pulled off his helmet, squinting up at the sky. And there before him towered Prince Maurice and Princess Ariadne, standing with folded wings and looking down at him with big Coralian eyes full of concern.

"You all right?" the Prince asked.

"I..." He coughed, overwhelmed by embarrassment. _I screwed up. Right in front of the Princess_. "There was some kinda..."

"_Don't move!_" shouted someone in a voice that demanded obedience.

Gene bristled and tottered to his feet. "Says who? Is it a crime to get rescued these days? Who _are_ you guys - ?"

An RPP gun; two; three; four materialized before his face. Seconds later, a ring of automatic rifles in the uncertain hands of the local police surrounded him. "Emiri Miyamoto, IPF Security," said the woman behind one of the RPPs. "These are my colleagues and two Temple Guardians of the Flame. You've drawn Their Highnesses out into an unprotected area and..."

"What the _hell? _I wasn't trying to 'draw' _anything!_ Something...went _through_ me up there, and..."

Burgomeister Lescault came lumbering up to them, puffing and sweating after his run across the field. "It's y_ou!_ Arrest this one! This is the one at the Ball last evening, the one who assaulted the Princess! He'll be the key to the rest of those would-be assassins. Him and...who is this other one? An accomplice?" He pointed down at the second reffer, now levering himself up from the ground and showing all the signs of severe disorientation.

"Who's he?" said one of the Guardians to Gene, gesturing with her RPP.

"How should _I_ know? I was in free fall, and that guy ran right into me. If it hadn't'a been for the Princess and the Prince - " furtively, he glanced her way " - we _both_ would've bought it."

Lescaut waved his arms around him, sending sweat trickling down into his eyes. "Spare me your lies, boy! All right - you on the ground. Get up, and off with that helmet, immediately!"

The local police hesitated, unsure of who now stood at the chain of command. But at a stern glare from the Burgomeister, they turned their rifles toward the faceless reffer, who rose to his feet and put both hands to his helmet.

A short fall of wavy chestnut hair tumbled out around a pair of fierce but very female hazel eyes. "Are you going to shoot me now?" she demanded.

For the first time Gene noticed the competitor tag on her suit. "You? _You_ were number 137?"

The Burgomeister went pale as dough. "_Manon_," he croaked.

"You know this person, sir?" asked the Guardian, Nina Kotova.

"My...my _daughter_. Oh, Blessed Mommet..." He drew himself up, and his imperious manner inflated him once again as outrage replaced shock. "So _this_ is what you've been about when you were scheduled to be at Poise and Elocution classes! It's why you weren't present at the Ball last evening, to uphold our family's position and honor. We are disgraced. Manon, it is time you learned..."

"She's a hell of a reffer, though," said Gene. No one paid him the slightest heed.

"Father, I _told_ you I have my _own_ interests! I don't mind keeping up the family honor, but that _doesn't_ mean I can't have a life of my _own!_"

The IPF operative whose Security badge named him as Carl Lowe, looked around them with some alarm. "Mr. Lescault, a crowd is forming. We've got hundreds of spectators from the stands coming out into the field so see what's happening. Your local patrollers can't hold them back much longer. This is a bad situation. I _strongly_ suggest that you have your police forces form a perimeter around us before any of them get any closer to Their Highnesses."

"What? Oh, very well - you officers, do your duty; spread the word to the others. But I want this arrogant young hothead under lock and key. I want him charged with attempted murder, sedition, vandalism - "

"No." said the Princess, and all other conversation ceased. "My husband and I saved them both from a terrible death, and it _wasn't_ so you people could mistreat them." She turned to Gene. "What's your name?"

"G-Gene Onegin, uh, Princess."

"All right, then," said the Prince, folding his arms. "It looks like the competition's over for today anyway, so please escort the two of them to our quarters. We'll talk with them there."

"_No_," blurted Emiri Miyamoto. Then, in a controlled voice, "I mean, Your Highnesses, this is extremely unwise! We're dealing with assassination, probably a conspiracy..."

The Prince held up one hand. "Neither of them've done _anything_ to us, Emiri." To Gene's complete astonishment, the Prince nodded his head toward himself and the Lescault girl, just as though they were old friends meeting over a cup of raspberry beer. "Gene and Manon - our guards here mean well, so don't be afraid of them. I think they'll get us back to the place we're staying before the crowd crushes us all. Right?"

The Royal guards lowered their RPPs, but, Gene noted, seemed none too happy about it. "Right," agreed Carl Lowe through clenched teeth. "This way, please. And I respectfully urge you to _hurry_."

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**Chapter ****Fifteen**

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Matt Stoner looked about him as they strolled along the metal catwalk, astonished at the size and complexity of the project known - only to a select few - as The Pinwheel.

"...as you guessed, with a bank of ionic reactors," Soniya was saying, "But even with all seven of them running in tandem, our electrical consumption often... Are you listening, Mr. Stoner?"

"Call me Matt." Above them, a crew of white-suited technicians busily strung a cable thicker than his neck between two huge insulating pylons. "No, not entirely listening, not yet. I'm still getting my bearings, nobody told me to expect anything this _big_." _Or this_ _secret_. _What're they hiding, and why?_

Morita gave him a thin smile and paused in his guided tour. "This is all support equipment, ancillaries to the Pinwheel itself." He spread his arms to indicate the great doughnut-shaped structure encompassing the entirety of the floor space beneath the metal dome. "It requires great amounts of power."

"Uh-huh. And money. Where's it coming from?"

"You come quickly to the point." Dr. Morita could not entirely hide his embarrassment. "The truth is, it _does_ cost a great deal. And the InterDominion's budget is not a large one, as you know. We rely upon the allocations of the Parliamentary Senate to continue our work."

Something down on the main floor, halfway to the opposite side, glowed with a pink radiance for a moment, then subsided. _This damn place is like an antihill. How many people've they _got_ working here, anyway?_ "I haven't heard about any such specialized budgets."

"Neither has the Senate. Dr. Egan and Speaker Holland have been very skillfully concealing our funding, by spreading the allocations across many smaller, commonplace, expenditures."

Stoner instantly resented the man's easy confession of swindling at the highest levels. "The hell you say. You and Holland and Egan, scheming together to hide some secret pet project from the people who're paying for it? What kind of elitist gang are you all turning into?"

"Don't be so quick to judge before you're heard all the facts, sir! It is not the entire Senate from whom we wish to conceal the Pinwheel, it is only from...certain _members_ of that body. But, I regret to say, we can only _do_ that by hiding its existence from the entire Senate." He spread his hands, imploring. "It gives me - it gives _none_ of us - any satisfaction to be skulking and hiding like thieves in the night. But this project must be kept concealed as long as possible. After that..." he looked away, toward an entire row of supercooling cabinets. "After that, let the fingers of blame point where they will. I'll make no attempt to evade my own responsibility."

"I'll hold you to that. What does it _do?_ What's all this collection of hardware _for?_"

It was Soniya who answered. She lowered her clipboard, not meeting Stoner's eyes, like someone with a guilty secret. "Surely you know about the Arkship, Mr. Stoner?"

"Call me Matt. Sure, there's not a person on the planet that doesn't know its story. Or that it shifted into lunar orbit five years ago, during the solar storms."

"It did not shift to avoid a solar wind - or anything else that we can detect. In fact, we have no idea why it moved, or why it continues to orbit the Moon. We don't even know what it uses for power, since its original engines were removed decades ago. Somehow, during its long voyage among the stars, it became...something _else_, something more than a huge lifeboat for saving Humanity from extinction." She took a long breath. "You have the highest Security clearance; otherwise we wouldn't be telling you this: not only is the ship itself a technological wonder, it contains a vast collection of alien artifacts, gleaned from a thousand worlds during its journey."

Stoner's stomach began to simmer. He wished for the bottle of antacid tablets in his desk drawer. "I won't ask you how you know all this."

"We wouldn't answer," said Morita. "Not even _your_ security level permits us to reveal _all_ of the events that occurred five years past. But when the Arkship moved to a lunar orbit, Federation personnel were trapped inside. They reported what we have just told you to the High Council, using the ship's radio. And _that_ was the inception of the Federation space program."

"Ah." The connections began to form a logical chain in Stoner's mind. "They want to reach the Arkship and plunder its secrets. And use them against us."

"Precisely. Obviously, we cannot permit that to happen. _We_ must reach the Arkship first; hence the creation of the Pinwheel project. But, as you are no doubt aware, certain factions in the Parliamentary Senate are more than a bit sympathetic to the Federation. Some, I think, would not stop at treason, if they thought it feasible."

_The Antipats, and the disgruntled leftovers of Andr__é__ Fuilli__ó__n's crew._ "Yeah. I think I could put some names to them. So _that's_ why you're hiding this thing; to keep _their_ noses out of it." Stoner shook his head, still uncomfortable. "You want the end to justify the means. But that doesn't make the means any less slimy. What do Eureka and Renton think of all this dealing from the bottom of the deck?"

Soniya reddened. "Their feelings are the same as yours. They strongly object on moral grounds, but see no other way. They granted Dr. Egan permission to proceed, but only with extreme reservations. We're _all_ in a moral bind about this."

"Uh-huh, I'm sure all that pureheartedness makes everybody feel good all around. But what's this Pinwheel thing got to do with the Federation's lousy space program? It's already cost them dozens of lives and a fortune in cash that they can't afford, to keep on trying to send rockets to the Moon. Is that what _you're_ doing, here? Have you got a rocket silo underground or something?"

They came to an aluminum-mesh staircase, and Morita kept speaking as they passed upward through row upon row of humming cabinets. They all gave off a hot breeze from ventilators set between panels of flashing readouts. "Rocket technology is a throwback to Mankind's first primitive steps into space, in the dark eons of ancient history. Suitable for putting objects into low Earth orbit, but it is clumsy and dangerous for manned missions, as the Federation is discovering. Dr. Egan and I believe we have a better approach. We expected you to be skeptical - is that not what journalists do best? - and so we have arranged a small demonstration."

_I __haven't _always_ been skeptical, Morita. Once, I was the most pathetically gullible sap I ever knew._ _And it almost cost the lives of a lot of better people than me._ "What, right now?"

"Soon; we are bound for an observation deck from which you can watch one of our small trials. Only a few more meters...here. Wait only a few moments, Mr. Stoner."

While Morita murmured into a small communicator, Stoner looked round from their vantage point about twenty meters above the circular housing of the Pinwheel itself. Human activity seemed to be winding down, as though in preparation for something risky. "_All personnel take safety positions_," warned an amplified voice that echoed through the dome. "_Five minutes to low-level trial. Clear the venturi areas immediately. Safety goggles must be worn during the formation of the Dilations_."

Soniya silently handed Stoner a pair of heavy goggles with head straps. "Thanks," he said. "What're these supposed to protect me _from_, though? These lenses're heavy, but clear as a cocktail glass."

"The radiation they filter isn't visible to the naked eye." She settled her own goggles in place, carefully adjusting the rubber seals around each lens. "But it can damage the retina all the same. Even with the Coralian Gift to heal you afterward, it's not something that's very pleasant."

He pulled on his own, intrigued to see that the lens material, whatever it was, cast a yellowish rainbow around every object in view. "I'll take your word for that. Can't you tell me what it is we'll be looking at?"

"It is something quite new," said Morita, his communicator still in one hand. "The many esoteric properties of trapar have been poorly understood since the return from the Great Exodus. They still are. But one of its qualities at the quantum level is the ability to induce a radical state change in objects near it."

"Uh-huh. How radical is radical?"

"I am speaking of an instantaneous change in spatial location, Mr. Stoner." He held out both hands, one empty, one grasping the communicator. "Imagine, if you will, what would happen if the _state_ of this device I hold were changed to a radically _different_ state. One in which it were in my _left_ hand instead of my right. Instantaneously."

Stoner's stomach tightened once more. "You're talking about wormholes? But _no_ one's ever - "

"Correct. No one ever has; the energies involved would be near-unimaginable. But we have discovered a unique property of trapar, when accelerated to a significant fraction of _c_."

"The speed of light?" Another warning echoed through the dome, this time announcing three minutes remaining.

"Correct again. At such speeds, an accelerated trapar stream does not increase in _mass_, as simple relativity would predict. Instead, it increases in _indeterminacy_. That is, the likelihood that it may exist somewhere other than its current location rises, in a manner we cannot yet predict reliably. Our experiments have been strictly trial and error, you see." He pulled on his goggles, giving him the aspect of a sly insect. "And when we direct this accelerated trapar at a physical object, that object _resonates,_ creating a transient field about itself that takes on the indeterminacy of the trapar barrage."

Stoner thought quickly. "Teleportation? The object's transported someplace else? Come _on_, will you. Even I know that - "

"But you do not know _enough_. I am aware of the energy-conservation paradoxes of teleportation, sir. And I tell you that this is _not_ teleportation. The affected object undergoes a fleeting change of _state_. It is not _transported_ elsewhere, it simply _is_ elsewhere."

The maddeningly emotionless voice on the sound system warned them of one more minute to full powerup. "But I..." A thousand objections came to Stoner's mind, but he held them all at bay. _I only need to know if it _is _possible, not whether it_ ought_ to be possible_. "Okay, I'll take your word for all of this, for now. What're you going to show me?"

Morita nodded. "Do you see that raised platform over there?" He pointed downward, toward a metallic disk about a meter across, at what Stoner assumed to be the business end of the accelerator. On it rested a bouquet of red-and-white speckled roses.

"Yeah. What're you going to do to the posies?"

"Hopefully, nothing at all." He indicated another metal platform suspended from the ceiling, some ten meters distant but at their current eye level. "But if we have calculated correctly, their _state_ will change, to one in which they exist at _that_ point."

Stoner noted the array of cameras and detectors aimed at the two platforms, and began a new question, when an amplified klaxon filled the dome with its din. "_Twenty seconds to power-up. All personnel_ must _use their protective goggles. Those without goggles_ must_ keep their eyes closed until the all-clear is sounded. Fifteen seconds to power-up. Commence capacitor charging_."

A low, hard, humming vibrated through the aluminum scaffolding. Morita and his wife showed no signs of alarm, but Stoner gripped the guard rail with sweating hands. Colored status lights blinked on along the entire toroid housing of the Pinwheel, and the air crackled with electrical potential. "_...four...three..two...one...power_."

The vibration rose to an ear-tickling whine as all the overhead lights dimmed at once. Below them, Stoner saw a deep violet aura around the roses...then nothing. A sharp explosion, like a high-powered rifle shot, startled him, and in an eyeblink, something appeared on the suspended platform.

The lights came up again, and Stoner found himself not at all shocked to see the floral bouquet on the receiving disk, apparently none the worse for wear.

-#-

At the center of the great Communion Chamber of the Temple of Vodarek, Viyuuden's eyes snapped open at once. Seated on a cushion before the triangular green Pillar of Insight, he looked round him at the acolytes meditating on either side. "Did you feel it?" he asked.

The nearest of the half-dozen trainees blinked and adjusted his white robes, reluctant to answer at once. "Yes, Reverend Sir. I said nothing, for shame at allowing myself to be so easily distracted from contemplation." Viyuuden saw the same embarrassed hesitation on the faces of the others, as well.

"There is no shame. The disruption was strong."

Another acolyte raised her hand. "Reverend Sir...what _was_ that? I've never felt anything like it before."

Viyuuden directed his Inner Sight around him, attuning himself to the rhythms of the Coral, itself a conduit for unfathomable realms of reality. But no enlightenment answered him. "Neither have I," he said at last. "I must investigate further. Today's session is over; please return to your usual duties."

They rose, bowing respectfully to him and to each other as they filed out, but the High Priest's mind was already elsewhere. _I must speak with Gregory_.

-#-

Walking in the arboreal park with her husband and Moonbeam, Lark glimpsed a shimmer that formed itself between two of the nearest sweetgum trees. Fearful, she hesitated, watching it quiver in and out of clarity, until it opened like the iris of a great and solemn eye.

Or a window.

Moonbeam growled, deep in his throat. "What's the matter?" asked Kazuya, but Lark stared into the circular opening - like a video screen of impossible clarity - showing her the interior of a stone building, lit by strange torches that rose in honey-slow ripples and gave off a brilliant light. On the far side of the masonry chamber stood a young man with a short beard, looking toward her with an expression of deep puzzlement. He wore boots with tight trousers, and over them a sort of padded jacket partly covering a green shirt beneath. Fascinated and frightened, Lark could not pull her gaze from the scene.

A girl's face darted into view, very near to the opening, and Lark sucked in her breath. But it was _the_ girl, the one she'd seen so many times before, with her long, straight black hair and precisely-cut bangs. "You again?" said the girl, not in an unfriendly way. "I wasn't expecting - "

The window in the forest winked out, leaving Lark rubbing at her eyes in the light of the setting sun. "What happened?" asked Kazuya as he wrapped his arms about her. "What was it this time?"

"Nothing...nothing bad. There was a stone room, almost like a sort of temple, and a man in peculiar clothes. And a girl, the girl I've seen before, _looking_ at me. Didn't you see it?"

She could feel it in his nearness, the decision whether or not to tell her the truth. "I saw..._something_. Kind of a ripple in the air, that's all."

Lark pulled herself back to look him fully in the face. "But you _did_ see it? Really?"

"I...yeah. I did see...something."

"It had a strange scent," added the dog. But Lark was already laughing.

Other strollers on the path turned to stare, but she laughed on, beyond caring. _They sensed it, too! Both of them! It wasn't just me!_

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**Chapter ****Sixteen**

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Quietly fidgeting, Rick glanced toward the clock.

_- It's almost three-thirty, dammit. They've been questioning these two since lunchtime, which we never got anyway_.

Ariadne's neural node twinkled in reply. _I know. I think we've all had enough, don't you?_

She got up from the bed where they'd been sitting, and assumed a properly regal air. "Excuse me," she said, and all conversation stopped.

The two Guardians, their IPF Security companions and a pair of the local police forces, all of whom had been grilling Gene and Manon since returning to the Royal quarters, turned toward them. "Your Highness?" asked Emiri.

"You've questioned them enough, we think. You've been asking these two the same questions over and over for hours. It's obvious enough that they haven't done anything sinister, so we'd like you to stop, now."

Not without a bit of stiffness, Carl Lowe got up from the floor where they'd all been sitting with legs folded, in a circle around the thoroughly wilted Manon and Gene. "Princess, I respectfully remind you that this fellow was present just before the attempted bombing last evening. And this young lady may be the Burgomeister's daughter, but - "

"My _father's_ got nothing to do with it!" snapped Manon, her voice rough and hoarse.

" - but she disrupted this morning's tournament and caused you and your husband to fly from your protected location to rescue them. You were in an exposed and vulnerable position long enough for anyone with a heat-seeking projectile to have..."

Rick came to Ariadne's side. "But there _wasn't_ anyone firing heat-seeking projectiles, was there?"

"We don't _know_ that, sir," Jack Offenbach quickly pointed out. "They may have been interrupted, or surprised by how rapidly you flew, or had a malfunction."

"Then the police forces and the extra people who flew in from the Heart of the World last night would have found traces of them by now. Look, we _know_ you people have our best interests in mind, but this's gone on long enough. Ariadne and me - I - are satisfied that Manon and Gene aren't up to anything bad. And we'd like you to stop harassing them."

"But Sir...," began Nina.

Ariadne faced her with the full strength of her Coralian eyes. "Now."

The six guards looked from one to the other, finding no way to argue with a Royal command. One by one, they rose and nodded acquiescence. "Very well, Your Highnesses," grumbled Carl. "We'll take these two to a holding cell and..."

"No," said Rick, his patience wearing thin. "We'll talk to them ourselves. Right here in this room. You can all go and look for some dinner."

Offenbach stared in shock. "But Sir...we are - all of us - tasked to _protect_ you."

"Fine. Keep a couple of guards stationed in the hallway, outside our door. We'll be sure to scream if either of them try to murder us."

"With respect, Sir, may I remind you that it's your _lives_ we're talking about. It's not a matter for humor!"

"I know, Emiri, I didn't mean to insult you, honest. _Any_ of you. But Ariadne and I're sure there's nothing to worry about. Besides, we want to ask these two a couple of questions of our own. Privately. Okay?"

Her face told him it was _not_ okay, not at all, but Emiri and the others shuffled from the room without further protest. "We'll keep Lord Renton and Lady Eureka informed," she said over her shoulder on the way out. Then the massive wooden door swung shut behind them with a soft _click_.

Rick reached out his hands to Manon and Gene, who swayed to their feet on legs gone stiff and clumsy. "That was kind of a threat, in case you didn't notice," he said with a smile. "She's hoping that our par... I mean, Lord Renton and Lady Eureka, will tell us to shut up and let them keep interrogating you. But Ariadne and I know them better than that." Rick waved them to the timber couch that occupied part of one wall. "Get comfortable, both of you, will you? I'll have some dinner sent up in a while."

Manon and Gene looked uncertainly to each other, but went to the couch and collapsed into its soft cushions. All the same, Rick noted that they did not touch.

"Thank you, Lord Maurice," said Manon with a respectful lowering of her head.

"Call me 'Rick,' would you? Listen... are you two, you know, _together_ in any way?"

"You mean are we...?" Manon blushed, a crimson sunset beneath the forest-brown of her hair. "Certainly _not!_ I mean...your Majesties. My _father_ would... I mean, my parents _expect_ me to... I've never even _met_ this _person_ before today!"

- _What the hell's the matter with_ her? _Why's she getting so excited?_

_Some sort of family problems, I think. Let_ me _ask a few questions_.

"If you didn't _know_ Gene," said Ariadne, "why did you interfere with his reffing routine?"

Manon balled her hands into fists, clearly exasperated over an afternoon that had been little more than endless interrogation. "It's like I _told_ them, the officers, your Majesty. I wasn't _interfering_, I was trying to save his miserable _life_. I saw him start floundering all over the sky and I took off right away!"

"Oh, so it's my 'miserable life,' is it?" said Gene.

She ignored him. "But when I got there, I..." Manon groped for words that did not come.

"You told the Security people you lost your balance," said Rick. "But I saw you ref this morning, and you were fantastic. In fact, you and Gene were the best we saw all morning long." He turned to Gene before she could speak again. "What about _you?_ That was some seriously hot reffing you did. And that slick move where you did an Overhead Roll, then released your board to catch it when you fell to the bottom of the turn - "

"I call it the Flying Roll Drop," Gene interrupted. Then hurriedly added, "Sir."

" - yeah, whatever. Anyway, you _had_ to've practiced that a thousand times. So why did you screw it up so badly this morning? And Manon, why did _you_ screw up when you came to grab him? And _neither_ of you ever opened your parasails. It doesn't make sense."

"Well, I sort of...uh..."

Ariadne folded her arms, making even the simple motion glamorous. "You're hiding something, both of you. Something important, that _no_ one around here wants to talk about. You were able to hide it from the Security people because Burgomeister Lescault brushed it away. But my husband and I _felt_ it out there, this morning, something we've never felt before. So you can't hide it from _us_."

Both of them squirmed on the couch, and the room grew heavy with their silence. "You've got to come clean with us," Rick reminded them after several long, uncomfortable moments. "We want the _truth_."

"Tell us, _now_," insisted Ariadne, her comforting manner grown chill. "What are 'the Dancers?'"

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**Chapter ****Seventeen**

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Gene began to sweat in his scuffed and grass-stained reffing skins. As if the Princess' overwhelming nearness were not distraction enough, she and the Prince showed all the signs of some supernatural awareness that left him feeling far more exposed than even the rapid-fire questioning of the security officers. Nervously, he glanced toward Manon, but found no comfort there. "The Dancers? Well, what I meant to ask you last night, your Highnesses, was if..."

"Shut _up!_" snapped Manon. "You know there's nothing to those stories. Nothing but a lot of stupid rumors."

"Rumors of...what?" the Prince asked her.

"Well, just... Just silly stories. Childish nonsense, that's all. There aren't any..."

Past the point of exasperation at last, Gene turned on her. "Liar! There's not anybody in town who doesn't know about the Dancers. That's what I thought the Princess and the Prince _came_ here about. That's why the Burgomeister - your _father_ - tried to shut me up last night. Did he tell _you_ to try and cover it up, too? It's pathetic, the way everybody's so afraid to talk about it, it's like - "

"Do you think I'd do _anything_ that my parents _ordered_ me to? I've got my _own_ mind, tractor boy, and I _don't_ take orders from my _father! _D'you think that being some kind of hot reffer gives you the right to come in here and - "

"That's enough," said the Princess. "Both of you."

Gene made no argument, shocked at how he had already screeched like an ill-mannered infant before the miraculous Princess Ariadne. He flushed with shame, and feigned an intense interest in the suite's intricately-woven carpet. "They're real," he insisted, his throat like cardboard. "They _are_. Pretty much everybody's seen them. But nobody wants to talk about them. They're all afraid that...that if word gets out, it'll be bad for business, maybe break up the Cooperative altogether. And maybe I can't blame them, but...we all can't just go on _pretending_ forever."

Beside him, Manon remained silent, shaking her head slowly. Her mouth moved but no sound came. The Princess and the Prince looked into each others' faces, the little oval jewels between their eyes twinkling and flashing. Gene shivered with sudden understanding._ Great Bodda, they're_ talking _to each other with those things! Can they read my mind?_

The Prince poured two glasses of fruit punch from a pitcher on the nightstand and handed them to Gene and Manon, who mumbled their thanks and drank greedily. "Is that true, Manon?" His Majesty said. "Is what Gene says the truth? That no one's willing to talk about these 'Dancers?'"

Manon nodded, as though the movement cost her great pain. "Yes, Your Majesty. My...my _parents_ ordered me to...to keep it to myself." Her eyes grew damp, and Gene could almost feel some sympathy for her. "Father is...afraid it will destroy the Honshu Cooperative, everything we've built here over the last ten years. If panic gets started...if everybody thinks we're all crazy...if people start leaving...if the InterDominion decides this area is too dangerous... You don't know how hard we've all _worked_, emigrating here from the Federation with _nothing_, and building it up like this..."

Gene bristled at once. _What a load_. Your _old man_, work?_ I'll bet he's never so much as loaded a lorry in his life! Nothing but a boss, a politician, a loudmouth, getting rich on _other_ peoples' work_. He drained the last of his juice and sat up rigidly straight. "They're like ghosts, the Dancers. Or smoke, or reflections or whatever. All blue and flickering, and you can see through them. That's why they're called 'Dancers,' because they sort of dance in the air, or over the ground." With one hand, he gestured in the direction of the competition field. "I never knew they could go so high before, though. _Or_ in the middle of the day. It's usually nighttime when people see them, out in the fields."

"That was what brought you down, then, this morning?" the Prince asked. "Was it one of these 'Dancers?'"

Outside the door, the heavy footsteps of guards, many of them, rumbled along the corridor. "I think so, sir. I'm _sure_ of it. While I was dropping out of my Inverted Roll, everything just went all - " Gene groped for adequate words to convey the unimaginable. " - all _blue_. I wasn't myself, not even my thoughts. Like, I don't know, some other _kind_ of thoughts were scrambling me all up. And when it passed through me, well...I was on my way down, and still too weird in the head to open my sail."

The Princess nodded, very gravely, yet with a delicacy that set Gene's heart to racing. "Manon, did the same thing happen to you?"

"Yes, My Lady." She tossed her head in Gene's direction. "I saw _him_ - it's not as if I knew who he _was_ or anything - lose control. I thought he'd passed out, or maybe spin-sickness. That's when..."

"It's when the centrifugal force sends all the blood to your head and makes you black out," said the Prince. "We know."

"Oh. Yes, Sir. Anyway, I still had my board in my hands, so I went right up to catch him...but then, it's just like _he_ said, something _passed right through me_, something awful that got into my _thoughts_. I must've lost my board, too. Because when I could start to think again, I was falling along beside him, grabbing at his ankle, too confused even to open my parasail."

"So _that's_ why you ran into me," sighed Gene.

"Are you complaining? Well, I'm _so_ sorry for trying to save your life. Don't worry, it won't happen again."

"I _wasn't_ com - "

Princess Ariadne overrode them both. "Will you two _please_ stop this squabbling? What do the Dancers look like?"

The room grew stifling as, again, Gene knew the depths of shame. "Sorry...Lady. There's not much to see, actually. They're just sort of faint, deep-blue shimmers. It's hard to see them at all if there's a full moon, but on dark nights, they're almost always out there, in the fields. They kind of dart here and there, not in any kind of pattern you can make out. Always in the fallow fields, never the ones under cultivation. Maybe about ten of them at one time, sometimes more."

"No one's ever tried to talk to them?" said the Prince. "Or communicate with them in any way?"

"No, Sir, not that I ever heard. It's not like anybody ever thought they were _alive_, or anything. Do...you think they are?"

His Majesty did not answer at once, but a long minute passed during which their forehead jewels glittered to each other. "We don't know. We can't leave Shiretoko right now; there's a lot to do here, still. But we think this is probably important enough that Lady Eureka and Lord Renton oughta know about it."

He looked toward the Lady Ariadne briefly, as if in confirmation, then smiled. "How would you two feel about taking a trip to the Heart of the World?"

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**Chapter ****Eighteen**

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Matt Stoner decided that the Pinwheel staff leaders seated around him at the table in Dr. Morita's office had the blank-faced look of a gaggle of guilty kids being kept out of recess. _But then, how many children has anybody seen lately? Never mind, they wouldn't understand the irony. They're all like Morita - stiff and serious-faced and with no more sense of humor than an executioner._

"Okay," he began, projecting a confidence he did not yet feel, "you all know who I am, and why I'm here. In a week at the outside, a bunch of Senators are going to be touring this facility. We can't legally - or ethically, if that makes any difference to anybody - keep them out. So we're going to have to fool them into thinking that this device you're working on is a harmless, ordinary, run-of-the-mill, everyday cyclotron."

They nodded like birds around a puddle, far too solemn to react to the mild joke. One of them raised her pen diffidently in the air. "Excuse me, Minister. I'm Dr. Tamaki Miura, head of the Superconduction Team."

_And the cutest superconductor I've ever seen_. "Yes?"

"It's about the Senators themselves. What level of technical expertise do they have, if any? Can they really tell the difference?"

"They are of very mixed background," said Morita before Stoner could speak, "we can expect at least a few of them to have a cursory understanding of particle accelerators. How much _more_ knowledge the outright Federation sympathizers may have been given is an unknown at this time. Therefore, we must presume the worst, and prepare as though we were being visited by trained spies."

Stoner noticed the shocked, unbelieving faces on some of the technicians. _Typical academics_, he decided. _Politically naïve._ "Dr. Morita's right on the mark - we've got to prepare for the worst. Now, since I'm neither a Senator nor a Federation stooge, I _don't_ know what makes an ordinary cyclotron look different from this trapar-acceleration device of yours. But you people do. So here's what I'd like to happen." He raised one hand and began ticking off action points on his fingers. "One: we need a list of everything that'll have to be disguised. Two: we need a list of just what'll be required to do the disguising, and how much time it'll take. Three: during the time that the senators are here, we need to be _doing_ some things that plausibly look like regular cyclotron research. Someone'll have to come up with ways to accomplish that."

One of the group leaders scowled. "And what will _you_ be doing while we are taking time from our valuable research, Minister Stoner?"

Stoner favored him with a chill smile. _I knew that at least_ one _of you was going to have the balls to balk at being bossed around by an outsider_. "Four: _I'll_ be busy writing press releases for the MOI news services, describing all the wonderful work you guys are doing with your...cyclotron, and how beneficial it's going to be for the InterDominion. Dr. Morita has agreed to supply me with plenty of background information, and he'll be checking every word I write for accuracy before I transmit it to the Ministry."

A soft rumble of disgruntled conversation made its way around the circle of scientists. A woman with a scientific calculator peeking from the front pocket of her lab coat gave him a wry smirk. "You seem very well-versed in the art of propaganda, Minister."

"I am. Like all of us here today, I was once a flunky for the Federation. I'm on the side of the good guys, now, but even though I don't like this underhanded crap any more than you do, I'm going to put all those skills to work for the good of the InterDominion. Are you all with me?"

The man who had questioned Stoner's participation rose at once. "I believe I speak for myself and my colleagues when I say that we are. Once, I was an optical physicist at the Federation's Belarus facility, developing KLF targeting systems. Like you, I now work for 'the good guys.' And while I share your abhorrence of this 'underhanded crap,' I will do all that I can." He turned toward the others. "Are we all in agreement?"

A loud chorus of assent rose from them; none held back.

"Very well," said Morita. "I ask that you all give immediate consideration to the topics Mr. Stoner has just presented. We will meet again in - " he glanced at the wall chronometer " - two hours' time to begin formulating a plan of immediate action. If no one has any further matters, this meeting is... Yes, Dr. Duranowski?"

"Excuse me, Dr. Morita, but will any of this delay the schedule for the long-distance test? With less than twenty-four hours left, we may need to start making alternative plans."

"_What_ 'long distance test?'" asked Stoner, at once alert.

Morita drummed his fingers rapidly on the tabletop. "Our first test of long-range accuracy. If all goes well, we will be sending a small probe into lunar orbit and retrieving it. Obviously, this is critical to our eventual goal. No, I think there will be no need to delay. All of you, have those members of your respective teams not immediately connected with tomorrow's trial begin work on Mr. Stoner's plan at once. The rest of us will meet again tomorrow evening, whether our trial succeeds or fails."

"Tomorrow evening? You mean this lunar-orbit trial of yours is taking place _tomorrow?_"

"Yes." Morita's manner became crisp, and Stoner had the idea that he was not pleased to have revealed the information. Morita stood and turned for the door. "This meeting is adjourned. Ladies and gentlemen, I shall see you all again in two hours."

The room clattered and shuffled with the sounds of departing scientists and technicians, but Matt Stoner remained in his seat, thinking furiously. _There's something you're not telling me. And whatever it is,_ I _am gonna to be the one to pry it loose_.

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**Chapter ****Nineteen**

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**-#-**

"...and we'll be going on with the conference here in Shiretoko tomorrow, just like we planned," Rick said from the communications screen in Dr. Egan's office. "You might like to know that after the bomb scare at the Ball, then us rescuing Manon and Gene this morning, the whole town's gone crazy over us. They think we're a real pair of heroes, too brave to be scared away from doing the InterDominion's business."

Renton suppressed a smile at the way Rick stood a little taller as he bragged about his and Ariadne's diplomatic triumphs. "Good job. What exactly are you going to do with the two local reffers? This business about 'the Dancers' is pretty interesting. I'm sure Dr. Egan and Viyuuden would like to talk with both of them."

"So are we," said Ariadne. "That's why we're having them put on a bus first thing in the morning, bound for the Heart of the World."

Eureka's wings quivered in surprise. "A _bus?_ But that will take several days. We can have Security dispatch an airship that will..."

"Thank you, Mother, but we think it's better this way. You see, Manon and Gene are a bit unpopular right now. She's angered her family by entering the reffing tournament. And I'm afraid the Security operatives managed to give a good many people in the Honshu Farm Cooperative the impression that Gene is somehow involved with the bombing - even though they admit, now, that he wasn't. So we'd like to give them a chance to leave in the most inconspicuous way possible. Until things cool down a bit, that is."

"I see." Eureka's jewel twinkled a deep red, and Renton could feel the pride and satisfaction in her. "Well, you and Maurice - Rick, that is - have been handling things very well. Renton and I are proud of you both. But you _must_ work more closely with the Guardians and the IPF Security personnel. Don't minimize the danger. There's already been one unsolved bombing attempt, and we must expect more threats."

Rick nodded agreement in a precise, military way that nearly made Renton smile. "_Yokai_. We'll report back if anything new comes up. Over and out."

The communicator screen faded to an InterDominion Earth-in-green-fire logo, and Renton spun his chair toward Dr. Egan's desk, where Holland Novak and Dominic Sorel, in his white IPF Security Commander's uniform, sat at his side. Though the office had been greatly enlarged after the Secret Crisis of five years past, Renton still found it cramped and oppressive. "You've all had time to read the reports from the Security agents and the Guardians. What d'you guys make of these 'Dancers?'"

Egan leaned back in his own chair, pressing his fingertips together in thought. "An intriguing phenomenon, but the data is insufficient. I should be inclined to dismiss it as local folklore, were it not for the way in which the two young reffers were brought down."

"We've got people investigating, in case it's some new kind of weapon," said Dominic. In spite of his apparent youth - maintained by the Coralian Gift - a network of worry lines now seemed to have taken up permanent residence around his lavender-pink eyes. "Not that it seems too likely." Feebly, he struck the desktop with one hand. "_Dammit_, I wish somebody'd let me know _sooner_ what was going on. A major attack by subersives, yet I didn't get any alerts from Jean Arban until almost one o'clock last night."

Holland seemed not to have heard. "No sign that this might be that Mist thing that made itself known when the Arkship went into lunar orbit?"

"None," said Egan. "Although 'no sign at this time' does not equate to 'it cannot be.' Still, Mrs. Aruno has not mentioned any new contact from the Mist. I shall meet with Viyuuden later today, to discuss the matter. We must bear all possibilities in mind."

Renton felt a glow of resentment from Eureka. "That's nothing but theory for the time being," she said. "Dominic is right, I think. We ought to be more concerned about the violent attacks, for now. First the Swallowtail girl, and now an attempted bombing of Maurice and Ariadne. What will come next?"

"That's what _I _want to know," said Holland, leaning forward. He made a guttural sound, rich with disgust. "Those damn Antipats."

Dominic's Coralian eyes simmered. "That could all have been a diversion. We don't yet _know_ any of _them_ are responsible for the attacks. That demonstration could have been a blind, to distract us."

"Well, who _else_, then? They're popping up everywhere these days, especially in the schools. Going all nostalgic over the Good Old Days of the Federation is getting to be the trendy thing to do in certain 'intellectual' quarters. If I had _my_ way, I'd ship'em all _back_ there, to refresh their memories a little."

Dr. Egan shook his head slowly, the bundled muscles of his neck standing out with each movement. "From a strictly political standpoint, we dare not do so at this moment. Federation sympathizers are a slippery lot, always quick to use our own legal system against us. Even our public investigations into the Antipatrician publication _The Free Thinker_ raised a hue and cry among certain very vocal members of the University faculty."

Dominic held his ground. "We didn't have a real Sedition case against them, though."

"Oh, hell, no," said Holland, clenching both hands together. "They always manage to stay just a _little bit_ on this side of the provincial sedition laws. And meanwhile, their fuzzy-headed faculty stooges and the avant-garde publishers start screaming 'witch hunt,' and accusing _us_ of 'police state tactics.' If it's a 'police state' they want, they don't have to look any further than the Federation itself - but they never do." His eyes grew feral, in a way Renton had seen many a time on the bridge of the _Moonlight_. "It's all coming from the top, from those traitorous bastards in the Senate who used to be cheerleaders for André Fuillión. I'd bet my life that they're taking orders directly from Pilgrim Island somehow. How I'd like to round up the lot of them and - "

"_So would I!_" Dominic shocked them all by leaping to his feet, his wings snapping out on both sides. "We've got plenty of _circumstantial_ evidence that points to the Opposition clique in Parliament, but not a single hard _fact_ that'll stand up in any of our courts. We _know_ they're Federation puppets, and if we don't do something soon, they'll be forming themselves into an actual political party. One that'll sell us out to the Federation first chance they get. And legally, Security _can't do a damn thing about it._ My hands're tied; I'm impotent, helpless, All I can do is sit around while... While..." He snatched up his Commander's cap, folded both wings abruptly, then stamped without another word to the doorway.

"What the hell was _that_ all about?" said Holland as the echoes faded into a stunned silence.

Egan reached for a long coil-spring device with handles on both ends and began to stretch it rhythmically across his chest. "The burdens of inaction on a man such as Commander Sorel must be considerable. Nevertheless, there can be little doubt that Maurice and Ariadne are now protected as well as is humanly possible. When the two young folk arrive from Shiretoko, we must meet again immediately - with Viyuuden present - to question them about their experiences. For now, I suggest we adjourn."

"Just a moment," said Eureka, and all eyes turned toward her. "What about the attempted murder of the Swallowtail girl? That mustn't get lost in all the other things thar are happening. I'd like to know if that could somehow be connected to the attack on Maurice and Ariadne."

Holland leaned back in his chair and folded both arms across his chest. "I've been wondering the same thing. Last time I talked to Dominic about it - he wasn't in such a huff, then - he said Security was investigating and keeping an open mind about it, but they couldn't establish any link just now. But I dunno, with Founder's Day getting closer and all, it seems to me this'd be the perfect time for somebody who's got it in for the InterDominion to try making the trapar hit the fan."

"I concur," Egan said, lowering the exercise device into an open desk drawer. "Viyuuden has already increased the number of Guardians of the Flame sentinels in and about the Temple building. And I understand he has similarly doubled the electronic monitors as well. Eureka and Renton - I pray that neither of you leave this building without alerting both the Guardians and IPF Security." He ran one hand over the top of his head, where a narrow hedge of hair had once risen above a shaven scalp. "There is, I fear, every reason to expect further...disruptions. Let them not take us unawares."

Holland made a great show of consulting his wrist timepiece. "Almost dinnertime. Yuki's holding a Founder's Day committee meeting tonight, so I've gotta get home and cook something up for Junior." He rolled his eyes. "And afterwards, _I've_ gotta start work on the agenda for the Farm Reorganization hearings, which're only a couple of days off. If there's no more business for the moment, how about we end this meeting?"

No one raised any further objection, and they went their separate ways. Renton and Eureka did not return to their quarters at once, but walked the dim Temple corridors from floor to floor, encountering no more than the occasional Guardian on patrol.

"You're unhappy," he said at last, the words echoing in the stone hallway.

"Yes. And so are you. And we both know why." Eureka stretched her arms and wings, but the gesture seemed to bring her no relief. "It just keeps getting worse, doesn't it? Murder. Federation subversion. Attacks on Ariadne and Maurice. People who should be _happy_, complaining about the InterDominion itself. Soon it will be exactly ten years since you and I brought the Temple here to the New Lands, and things only seem to be getting worse, not better. Once, I thought we'd finished our job when the Coral achieved Revelation. Then once again, when we escaped here and began the InterDominion. But each and every time, _new_ problems appear, each one more complicated than the ones before." She put her hands to her cheeks, shaking her head slowly. "Does it ever _end?_ Can't you and I _ever_ say 'There, it's over. _Now_, we can all relax?'"

Having no answer but the reassurance of his own closeness, he took her hand in his and they walked on in silence.

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**Chapter ****Twenty**

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**-#-**

Emiri Miyamoto, one of the IPF Security bodyguards, pushed open the door to the second-floor suite. "This is your room," she said. "Their Majesties ordered that you were to have the finest available quarters in the Inn, so you'd better appreciate their generosity."

Gene peeked inside at the luxurious suite, far surpassing anything he'd ever imagined in his most extravagant dreams of wealth. "This is, uh, for...both of us?"

Her partner, Lowe, made a derisive chuckle that was almost a snort. "Too crowded for you? Maybe you'd prefer having the entire Inn? Look, kid, deliberately or not, you two've gotten yourselves mixed up in some _very_ nasty business. You're lucky you're not spending the night in a cell."

"My _father_ will have something to say about this!" said Manon through clenched teeth.

"Your _father's_ been overruled, Missy." Emiri displayed little sympathy for her indignation. "Now, both of you, get on inside. And this suite is monitored at all times, so don't even _think_ about getting out. We'll have some dinner sent up shortly, along with changes of clothing. Both of you be ready to be escorted to the bus at six tomorrow morning. And if you're _not_ ready, we'll drag you there anyway. Understood?"

The silent Manon grew red in the face, but Gene only nodded as they were herded inside. "I get it. You don't have to be so damn pushy about it."

Lowe smiled, baring his teeth without humor. "Oh, we haven't even _started_ to get pushy, kid. Remember: six tomorrow, _sharp_." And he slammed the door behind him, locking it from outside.

The room seemed quieter to Gene than any room had ever seemed before. Manon's unspeaking presence was like a bonfire, impossible to ignore, yet far too frightening to approach. "Well," he said finally, "I guess we can at least make the best of it. Pretty fancy furniture; must've cost plenty. And this carpet's so deep it's almost like a field of..."

"Oh, shut _up_, tractor boy! Don't you have _any_ idea how _serious_ this all is? And all _you_ can do is gawk at the furnishings, like some...some _peasant_ with manure all over his boots." She began to stamp in circles, fists held tight, brandishing them with each word. "I'm not _accustomed_ to being treated like this!"

It occurred to him, not for the first time that day, that her grass-stained reffing skins fit her very well indeed. But Gene brushed the thought away. "So what? Neither am I. What makes _you_ so special?"

"You don't understand...anything." Manon threw up her hands and sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the floor. "I wanted to show them. To show them that I could be a _champion_, all on my own. And now..._this_."

He grew intrigued in spite of her arrogance. "Show _who?_ Who did you want to...?"

A sharp knock sounded from the door. Manon made no move, so Gene hurried across the room to answer. One of the hotel employees fidgeted at the opening, holding a small suitcase at each side. "Your traveling clothes, sir. Ordinary day wear, and for sleeping."

Gene took both of them. Seeing a pair of guards up the hall looking intently his way, he resisted the temptation to step outside. "Thanks. That was fast."

"Yes." The man made a nervous little bow. "Orders of Their Majesties." Without another word, he spun and hurried off, under the watchful eyes of the Security personnel.

"We've got clothes," he told Manon, lowering both valises to the floor and opening the nearest. A froth of frilly underthings told him it was the wrong one. "Oops, I guess this _other_ one's mine. Well, these look like pretty decent duds." He glanced toward her, her face still downturned. "Even us peasants with manure all over our boots don't mind looking good for going to the capital city."

"Don't try to be funny. There's nothing amusing about this situation, tractor b - "

"_Stop calling me that, dammit! _My name's _Gene_, Gene _Onegin_, hear?"

Though he expected a fresh round of insults from her, Manon only faced him, wide-eyed, as if the nearest table lamp had suddenly learned to speak. "You don't understand what a...disaster this is. You _can't_ understand."

_Well, it was a civil answer, anyhow._ "How old're you?"

"Nineteen." She scowled his way. "Same as you. We're in the same age class under Standard Reffing Competition rules. You know that. Why do you even care?"

Gene shrugged, all at once uncertain why he _did_ care. "I dunno. You never can tell these days, what with the Gift and all..." He stood, clutching a wad of checkered flannel in one hand. "It's been a rough day, and I need a shower. I'm gonna go clean up and get into these pajamas. Let me know if they deliver the food while I'm in there, okay?"

"I'm not your messenger! And by the way, we should settle the...sleeping arrangements...right now."

"What?" He stopped, halfway to the bathroom door.

"We may be forced to share these quarters, but that _doesn't_ mean you're free to...take liberties. _You_ will sleep on the couch in the other room."

For a moment, outrage and disbelief pulled in opposite directions within Gene. "'Take liberties?' Are you _crazy_ or something? D'you think you're _that_ irresistible?"

"We won't argue the point. You may put a pillow on the couch..."

"You snotty, rich little _brat!_ You think you can just order people around at your beck'n call?"

"We won't discuss it any further - "

"Damn _right_ we won't! Look, you... Look, _Manon_, if you think I'm some kinda maniac who can't keep his hands off you, then _you_ go sleep on the couch! I've just had the District Reffing Championship snatched outa my hands; I almost got killed; I been grilled by IPF Security till I can't think straight and _now_ I'm gonna be shoved on a bus to the Heart of the World to be grilled some _more_. I don't need to take any more _crap_ from _anybody_ today, especially from somebody who thinks her daddy's _money_ makes her the Queen of the whole damn _world_."

If she had anything more to say, he did not hear it over the slam of the bathroom door. His heart pounding, Gene stared at his red-faced reflection in the mirror for a moment, then twisted the shower control until the hiss of the steaming water drowned the still greater heat of his own feelings.

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**Chapter Twenty-****One**

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"I love train rides," said Lark, looking lazily out the window of the southbound dining car. Rain clouds hide the stony heads of the mountain peaks drifting past.

Still inspecting the menu, Kazuya nodded without looking up. "Yeah. Train rides were a real luxury for my family, when we lived in the Federation. Once, we went to visit my grandmother, in Okhutsk, and we took an overnighter. But only Party VIPs got sleepers on the State Railways, so we spent the night in a coach, bouncing around on the rough track." He shook his head at the reminiscence. "We might not have the kind of rail network that the Federation's got, but _our_ trains are a hell of a lot better." What're you having?"

"I'm not sure, yet. Did you confirm the hotel reservations before we left? Moonbeam said you were on the phone, but - "

He smiled in a reassuring way. "Sure. The railway terminal is just half a kilo from the resort, so we'll get a cab when we arrive, and it'll take us and our bags right to the door. _And_ all the monthly bills are paid. _And_ I locked the front door. And Moonbeam will look after the apartment just fine while we're away. There's nothing to worry about, so put your mind at ease, okay?"

Lark felt her face grow warm, and she allowed herself a self-conscious giggle. "You know how hard it is to put my mind at ease. You know better than anyone."

"Yeah, I do, and that's why we're here, you and I. To put your mind at ease. Now, how about you make up your mind about what you're going to have for dinner, so we can eat, then go to the lounge car and watch the countryside go by?"

A flurry of windblown rain pattered against the window, quickly wiped away by the speed of their passage. _He's right. Just getting into these new surroundings is so...comfortable. I can feel _at home _here, in a way I haven't been able to feel for years. Maybe ever, if I could remember my life before the Federation dissected my mind_. "All right. The cheese fondue looks awfully good. Do they still serve fondues in one of those candle things, with the curly metal legs...?"

_Metal legs. Metal tubes, all over, all over the walls. Must keep to the shadows. The shift is changing..._

Through the haze obscuring her vision, Lark saw Kazuya staring at her with his familiar face of alarm. "Lark? You don't look good. Is it another...?"

_This is the reactor area_, thought the intruder. _Just like in the photographs. Hold it tightly; mustn't drop it. This lab coat is too large for me; got to be careful not to trip. Now hurry down the ramp. Their security is poor. In the confusion of shift change, I can be in the clear_.

"Kazuya." Lark had to force the words from a throat she could not be certain was her own. The warmly-lit interior of the dining car grew faint and insubstantial, as a strange industrial nightmare of angles and unfamiliar machines materialized around her.

_There. Next to the reactor. Looks exactly like a carton of shielded gloves. Now out, quick, before the third-shift guard arrives. So stupid, all of them. No strength. Weaklings, all of them, soft and stupid and corrupt. Walk slowly. Look as if you belong here, don't hurry. But keep walking; ten minutes_.

Lark sucked in her breath for a scream that never came. She found Kazuya next to her, and further away, other diners looking their way, curious, wondering if they should be frightened. She pulled herself upright in her seat and blinked away the fading tag-ends of the vision. "Kaz? It's all right, I'm all right, now. I can sit up. Really."

"Are you sure? You looked like..."

"I _know_ what I must have looked like. But it's over, now. Let me have one of my pills, the yellow ones in my purse. No, wait - first, hand me my communicator."

He paused, unsure. "Your communicator? What for?"

Lark snatched it from his hand and punched in the access code with fingers that still quivered. "I've got to call Viyuuden. There're only ten minutes left."

"Until...what?"

The handset's little screen winked a soft blue, over and over, with the message _Making connection, please hold._

She shivered. "Until..._something_ _happens_. Again."

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**Chapter Twenty-****Two**

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**-#-**

Matt Stoner sighed as he put his pen to the final notations on his Concealment Committee agenda. He leaned back and cracked his knuckles, echoing in the empty conference room that had only fifteen minutes before been alive with Dr. Morita's staff as they took on their individual assignments. _At least they were all agreeable. They seem like they really do get the need to keep all this experimentation a secret_.

He snapped his briefcase shut, yawned and stood. After such a long and contentious day, he looked forward to finding his quarters, showering and turning in for the night. _But duty calls, after all_. Not without some hesitation, he reached for his communicator, ready to call the home office and catch up to his incoming messages.

"Minister Stoner?"

He turned around, to find Dr. Tamaki Miura, the superconductor team leader, displaying her altogether entrancing silhouette in the doorway. "Call me Matt. I noticed you weren't at the meeting, Doctor. No serious problems, I hope?"

"Fortunately not. One of the liquid-nitrogen cooling units for the eighth accelerator torus was showing deterioration. We can't afford less-than-optimal performance for the next trial run."

"No, of course not." Stoner shrugged his jacket into careful symmetry, wishing that there'd been time to shave before the meeting. "What can I...do for you?"

"I wonder if you might be good enough to forward a list of agenda items to me. I'd like to see that my staff is fully updated on what we must do to deceive the Senate visitors." Idly, she brushed at the dark bangs that contrasted so neatly with her high, pale cheeks.

"Ah. Sure, I'd be delighted. In fact, I can forward the entire audio recording of the meeting, as well. Say, d'you think you could show me around a bit, maybe where I could get a bite to eat? I hate going to bed on an empty stomach."

Her smile was quick, both to appear and vanish. "Of course. Please come with me, Mr. Stoner, and I'll show you the location of the staff cafeteria."

He followed her, increasing his stride to keep up with her rapid pace, through a confusing maze of catwalks, tunnels and open scaffolding across the massive accelerator. "It seems just as busy now as it was when I arrived," he said. "You must be running three full shifts here."

"Yes, we are." Miura looked straight ahead as they walked, not troubling to turn her eyes his way. "And the pressure on all three of them has now increased since your arrival. This project _must_ be completed, Mr. Stoner, at all costs."

"Why?" Stoner dodged a heavy synthetic beam leaning against the walkway. Beyond, a small construction crew labored on the framework of some incomprehensible complex of equipment. "Why the tremendous hurry? Sure, I know we have to beat the Federation to the Arkship, but they don't exactly seem to be getting any kind of lead over us. What's the rush?"

At last, she spared him the barest of sideward glances. "Have you known many scientists, Mr. Stoner?"

"Call me Matt. Does Dr. Gregory Egan count?"

"Very much so. But I think you are not - please watch your step; those power cables are live - not familiar with the _world_ of the sciences; with the fierce dedication that we develop for our research. For Dr. Morita and those of us who share his passion, this is the opening of the door to an astonishing new world, one which a layman can barely comprehend."

Stoner trod carefully on the simple wooden ramp leading down to ground level. "Katsuhiro never struck me as the, well, passionate type."

"Which proves my point. You do _not_ comprehend." She gestured toward a doorway, roughly laser-cut into synthetic wallboard. "This is the employee cafeteria. It's open all day long."

"Won't you come in and join me in a cup of - "

Miura's smile sparkled with frost. "I have a great deal of work ahead of me tonight, and as my _husband_ often says, never wait for a deadline. Please don't forget to transmit that recording to me. Good night, Minister Stoner."

"Husband?" he murmured at her rapidly-retreating back. Above, a shower of welders' sparks cascaded downward, and he stumbled backward into the shelter of the doorway.

"Hey, _watch_ it, will you?"

Stoner looked round, to find a woman in white New Tresor technicians' coveralls, scowling at him over a tray that bore a small bowl of soup and a mug of what appeared to be coffee. "Er, sorry. I was just talking to someone, and..."

She gave him a sincere smile. With her delicate, elfin face and forward-swept blonde hair, Stoner decided it made a very _nice_ smile.

"Sure, I noticed. You got your introduction to the Snow Queen, didn't you?"

"Dr. Miura? Is _that_ what you call her? Why am I beginning to suspect that there's something about her that nobody told me?"

"You haven't been here long, have you?" The woman looked very intently into his face with sharp gray eyes. "Wait a minute - you're Stoner, aren't you? Minister of Information? I heard some scuttlebutt about you coming here to the Project."

"Call me Matt."

"Okay, Matt. Oh, hell, where're my manners? I'm Sigrid Arnoldson, beam-alignment technician." Seeing his bafflement, she laughed, and said "I work on the magnetic toroids that guide the accelerated trapar through the Pinwheel. Did you come down here to get something to eat, or just to get away from Her Majesty?"

Feeling somewhat swept along by her effervescent manner, Stoner could only put on an embarrassed grin. "Definitely the eating part. What's good here?"

"Anything. If you don't mind your meals mass-produced, it's not bad, really. You want to join me? Go get something for yourself at the counter and sit with me at that table. Hurry, now, before the second trick gets off work and starts crowding in here for dinner."

Deeply relieved at having finally met someone he could actually understand, Stoner grabbed an aluminum tray and picked a soy steak from the counter, along with a pear in cottage cheese, with cold apple juice to cut his thirst. He spotted Sigrid sitting alone at a table in the far corner. She waved, and Stoner hurried to join her.

"This place reminds me of my first school's cafeteria," he said, settling into the metal-mesh chair. "Except that the Federation Youth Ministry never supplied such agreeable company."

Sigrid stifled a laugh into her coffee, then swiped at her full lips with the back of one hand. "Wow, you _are_ the charmer, aren't you?"

"Well, I didn't mean to - " He felt himself beginning a blush.

"No, no, I _like_ it!" She dabbed at her mouth with a napkin. "Guys as elegant as you are rare, especially around research installations. Hey, did you try that romantic soft-soap on the Snow Queen?"

Stoner had to laugh, himself. "Truth is, I never got the chance. Tell me, does she...really have a husband?"

"No idea. She tells everybody that, but no one's ever seen him. If he actually exists, he's as patient as a mountain, because she hasn't been outside this building for more than six months."

"Uh-huh. And what about you?"

Still smiling, Sigrid narrowed her eyes at him. "Quite the ladies' man, Matt; you don't waste a minute. No, wait, don't look so embarrassed, I didn't mean that the way it sounded. No, I'm not married. I was, once, but that was all long ago, back in the Federation. How old are you?"

"Uh, how old?" Stoner had the unaccustomed sensation of being interviewed, and found the jarring role-reversal not to his liking. "Fifty-three, actually. But I was one of the first to be infected by the Coralian Gift, so I've already de-aged back to about twenty-five. My doctor tells me it'll keep going for a few more years, till I look about eighteen or twenty...just a couple more years than _you_ do. And how old are _you_, Sigrid?"

"Hey, not so fast! A lady's got to keep a _few_ secrets, right?" She took a few quick sips of her soup, its aroma deep with unfamiliar spices. "The word is, you've come here to help us hide the Pinwheel's real purpose from some hostile Parliamentary members."

He sliced off a bite of soy steak and chewed it greedily. "The word is true. The Antipats call themselves 'progressives,' but given the opportunity, I don't think treason would be beneath them. It's their way of trying to make themselves look smarter and more compassionate than anyone else, I guess. Putting on a radical pose is a time-honored way of convincing yourself you're morally superior to the common herd."

"You say that with a lot of conviction." Sigrid reached across to take a sip of his apple juice. "Maybe you've seen some of that personally?"

_More personal than you can imagine_. "Yeah. Enough to recognize the breed when I see them."

"Well, I was just asking. I thought maybe this visit had something t'do with the Project itself."

Five or six coveralled technicians milled in, laughing among themselves and speaking in muted voices. From their air of jolliness, Stoner guessed them to be the vanguard of the second shift, coming off work for the day. "Why? Has the Project got something _else_ to hide?"

Instead of the offhand joke he'd expected, she said, "I dunno. Sometimes I think so. Some of the techs from other units talk about it, when they're sure none of the supervisors are around to hear. Nothing definite, just, y'know, a _feeling_."

Stoner pushed his empty plate away, all his instincts at once alive and quivering. "About...what?"

"Well, I..." She shrugged and wrapped her arms about herself, like a shy schoolgirl. "It's probably nothing."

"If you really thought so, you wouldn't have brought it up." He polished off the last of his pear and leaned closer, hands on the tabletop. "Is there anything you'd like to tell me?"

Sigrid looked down at her empty bowl, and Stoner saw in her face the evidence of a powerful struggle within her. "Okay. I'm going to have to trust you to keep quiet on this, okay? Promise? But we can't talk about it here, in the open. Let's go back to my - "

An echoing explosion cut her off, ringing through the great dome like waves of summer thunder. Klaxon horns sounded from all directions, and a nervous female voice announced _"Attention, attention. There is an emergency situation in the primary reactor area. All security personnel and ionic-reactor __technicians, please report at once. All others remain at your posts until further orders. There's an emergency in the..."_

The other occupants of the cafeteria scrambled out at once, leaving meals untouched as they jostled for the door. Stoner jumped to his feet, nearly toppling the table, but Sigrid held him back by one hand.

"Wait a minute," she said, "didn't you hear the announcement? I'm supposed to stay where I am, and _you_ don't even work here."

"Like hell I don't. Didn't you notice anything at all fishy about that?"

Her empty look told him she had not. "You mean about the explosion?"

"No. That the announcement came only a few seconds _after_ the explosion. That was no synthesized automatic voice, it was a _human_. A human who _already knew _where the explosion was." Stoner looked down at her. "Something's funny, here, and I'm going to see what it's all about. You...want to come?"

Sigrid gave him a single nod and rose at once. "You bet. Come on, I'll take you to the reactor zone."

-#-

At the power-generating area, Katsuhiro Morita stood with arms folded, glowering at the emergency crews in their containments suits, rushing here and there about a heavy metallic dome stained with the distinctive tracks of a high-temperature explosion. A gray haze hung in the air, stinking of burnt chemicals that stung the eyes and nose. Only a few technicians from other areas looked on, whispering to each other. _Seems like the discipline around here is pretty tight. Back at New Tresor, there'd be a crowd of gawkers for twenty meters around_.

"How bad was the damage?" asked Stoner, fighting back an urge to cough. "Some kind of equipment failure?"

Morita gave him a poisonous glare. "Certainly not! Our reactors are designed with all applicable safety backups, which is why they are still functioning normally. This was nothing less than deliberate _sabotage_."

"How can you..." The coughing would no longer be denied, as Stoner's burning lungs rebelled. "How can you be so sure, so soon?"

With a gesture, Morita summoned one of the emergency workers, who brought him three filtration masks. He strung one over his own face and held out the others for Stoner and Sigrid. "Because I received a communication from Viyuuden, only moments ago, warning me of a bombing attempt on this very location."

"From _Viyuuden?_ How the hell did _he_ know?"

"I have no idea; there was no time to discuss the matter in detail." One of the crew, shrouded in his protective suit, approached Dr. Morita for a quick consultation.

Realizing, to his surprise, that Sigrid was clinging to his left arm, Stoner gave her a reassuring smile through the transparent breathing mask. "Is this what you wanted to talk to me about?" he asked while Morita was distracted.

She shook her head No. "This's the first time there's been any trouble like this. I don't know what to make of it."

"Uh-huh. Well, much as it pains me, I can't report this to the Ministry till Security gets someone in here to check things over - if then. How about you tell me that little secret you were going to spill a couple of minutes ago?"

"I _told_ you," she whispered as well as the respirator would allow, "I can't talk about it in the open. We've got to go someplace private."

"Such as?"

Sigrid faced him frankly. "How about your quarters?"

**-****#****- **

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**Chapter Twenty-****Three**

**-****#****- **

**-#-**

Holland Novak plowed his way into Dr. Egan's office without polite formalities and dropped into the seat beside Viyuuden, wishing he were somewhere else. "I just got your message," he said. "What's the news from the Pinwheel?"

With remarkable gentleness for a man so large, Dr. Egan replaced his office communicator in its console. "It is not good, but it could have been exponentially worse."

Viyuuden only dipped his shaven head in acknowledgement. "You got my warning to them in time, then? They were able to prevent the explosion?"

"No. Alas, we were fractionally too late for that. But Katsuhiro tells me the site's security personnel were able to issue an alert almost at once. No lives were lost, injuries were minor and the damage has been contained. The Pinwheel itself remains in working order. Project Security is on full alert, and IPF personnel are being readied for transport to the Project site."

"Good," said Holland.

The priest showed less satisfaction. "I am not so reassured. I've had vague...premonitions lately; intimations of something - " he waved one hand in the air, searching for the right word " - unsettling."

"Yes. You mentioned such forebodings when the Pinwheel device was briefly tested this afternoon." Egan pressed his fingertips together before his face, a seemingly pedantic gesture until Holland realized it was actually an isometric exercise for increasing grip strength. "I take your intimations seriously, my friend. Still, even you must concede, it's little enough to go on."

Holland agreed. "Sure as hell is. Dominic called me right after you did. He told me something was up, down at Morita's project, but nobody seemed to know who did it."

"Correct in all respects. A person unknown planted an explosive device near one of the ionic reactors. That person has not yet been identified."

"'_A_ person?'" From long experience, Holland had learned to read the delicate shades and penumbras of meaning in Gregory Egan's words. "Isn't the usual expression 'a person _or persons_ unknown?'"

"Mrs. Lark Aruno contacted me less than half an hour ago," said Viyuuden. "She had had another remote vision of the bomb being planted, through the eyes of the criminal. From her description of the surroundings, I knew it to be the Pinwheel site. Once again, only a single individual was involved."

"Then it ought to be simple, right? That dome of Morita's is like a warship - a contained environment. Nobody can get in or out without them knowing about it."

"Theoretically, yes." Egan's restless hands found a pair of small barbells, which he twisted back and forth at arm's length. "And yet someone has certainly gotten _in_, at least. Someone highly skilled, highly trained and highly motivated. And with a full-scale preliminary test scheduled for tomorrow morning, Katsuhiro's team can ill afford any interruptions. I fear that Commander Sorel's Security group must now shoulder yet another burden."

"Yeah." Holland spun his chair in a complete circle, sifting the matter about in his mind. "And all this happens while Stoner's out there trying to keep the lid on things, before our delegation of snoopy senators arrives. Seems funny." He swiveled toward the placid Viyuuden. "And what's this stuff about 'forebodings' and 'intimations?' _Exactly_ what've you been picking up on?"

"Perhaps if you attended Temple gatherings more frequently, you would come to understand. There are times when the Will expresses itself in ways that are not _exact_ by Human standards. Consider it more of a...foreboding. As a commander of a renegade warcraft, did _you_ never experience intuitions of immanence; a certainty that some danger was near?"

Uncomfortable, he made an exasperated face. "Ahhhh... _you_ know I've never entirely bought into this mysticism of yours. Hell, back in the old days, Doc and Norbu tried to convince me that the whole damn planet was going to fall into a black hole any minute. The 'Limit of Life,' he called it."

"You have always misunderstood." Egan made some adjustment to the monitor on his desk. "I - Norbu and I - were referring a limit of _trapar-based_ life."

"'Trapar-based?' Hey, life is life, isn't it?" The look of secret knowledge that passed between Dr. Egan and the priest left him feeling excluded and annoyed. "Well, _isn't_ it?"

"Norbu had profound insight," Egan went on. "Intuitively, he grasped the fact that the Coral was not only _chemically_ different from what you and I consider 'life,' it belongs to another _level of existence_ altogether. Such a huge mass of a life-form of this nature puts a strain on the very composition of space-time itself, simply by virtue of its concentration."

Not wholly certain he was not having his leg pulled, Holland looked back and forth between the two men. "Well, ever since that business with The Mist, we know that the Coral was _sent_ here by somebody or something. Were they _trying_ to wipe out Humanity or what? Because they came damn close, y'know."

Viyuuden smiled, maddeningly composed. "Yes, and that thought gives me comfort. For it tells us that whatever vast intellects sent the Coral and the Mist to us are not infallible; that they are capable of equally vast mistakes."

"You think that's _comforting?"_

Dr. Egan lifted a single ruddy eyebrow. "Strictly in a philosophical sense, of course - "

"Philosophy, my ass! Excuse _me_, Doc, but let's keep our eye on the real world. Their 'mistake' almost cost us the lives of every human on earth! Just what _did_ these vast jerks intend for the Coral to do, if not absorb all the life on the planet?"

Egan put down the hand-squeeze exercisers he had been pumping in alternate rhythm and looked into the ceiling in a detached way. "We cannot know with certainty at this time. But it is my considered _belief_ that it was to bring about a joining of our two kinds. A human, yet trapar-based, life-form capable of transcending the Limit of Life."

"You mean the Coralian Gift? That's not - " In a flash, he understood the direction of Dr. Egan's thought. "No. You mean Eureka and Renton."

Without rising, Viyuuden inclined his head. "And the other Coralian hybrids, who are already multiplying. I agree with Gregory - they are leading us toward the next tentative step upward in human evolution. A step that the Coral and the Mist were originally created to facilitate."

Holland reeled under the monumental implications. "But...so why didn't we just become hybrids from the beginning, instead of being all but wiped out by the Coral? What went wrong with this big master plan? Why's it have to be kick-started again after twenty-five hundred years?"

"I believe," said Egan, standing and stretching, like a mass of steel cables, "that something _interfered_ with that plan." He cast a significant glance in Viyuuden's direction. "Perhaps...deliberately. And now, as Holland has so rightly reminded us, we must return to the real world. The first item on this evening's emergency agenda must be..."

**-****#****- **

**-****#****- **

**-****#****- **

**Chapter Twenty-****Four**

**-****#****- **

**-#-**

Gene squinted in the early light and rubbed at sleep-sanded eyes. Even at six-thirty AM, the bus terminal stirred with passengers, most of them simply waiting, with varying degrees of patience. The room smelled strongly of cleaning fluids and coffee, and no one spoke above a murmur.

Carl Lowe, along with five other plainclothes IPF Security agents to whom Gene had not yet been forcibly introduced, maintained a loose circle about him. Of Manon, there was not yet any sign. _Still trying to get Mommy and Daddy's money to spring her, I'll bet._ _Well, that's_ her _problem_.

In one corner of the waiting room, a video screen had been installed for the diversion of bored passengers awaiting the departure of their buses. Irritated at being under constant surveillance, Gene edged his way toward it. On the screen, a smooth-faced man wearing a lofty expression of perpetually contemptuous amusement sat facing the video audience. He licked his lips and blinked pale eyes as he responded to the questions of an off-camera interviewer. The caption at the bottom of the screen identified him as Dr. Leo Janacek, Professor of Situational Ethics at New Path College - wherever _that_ might be.

Three of the passengers in the first two rows of seats appeared to be asleep; the rest munched listlessly on breakfast rolls or sipped at coffee from paper cups. Yet oddly, an unobtrusive group of five - three men and two women - in nondescript rural traveling dress, stood close to one tiled wall, staring at the screen with an intensity bordering on hatred. Curious, Gene drifted slowly in their direction, straining to catch the low-volume words of the twitchy Professor Janacek.

"...yes Charles," he was saying, jabbing one finger across the table at the unseen interviewer, "but you see, there is no indication that the InterDominion even _needs_ a monarchy. Really, what's the_ point?_"

"Perhaps so." The announcer - presumably "Charles" - appeared on-screen for a fleeting instant, very serious of face. "But don't you think, Professor, that given the completely remarkable accomplishments of Renton and Eureka Thurston, they are eminently qualified for the task of leading the InterDominion? After all, they single-handedly put a stop to the Coralian War, and..."

"Oh, nonononono!" Janaceck curled his lip, as if to emphasize the man's naiveté. "Really, Charles, they were simply in the right place at the right time, nothing more. I mean, the fact that they have rather - " he stifled a low chuckle " - _colorful_ body parts makes them distinctive, but it hardly qualifies them as the leaders of our new nation. Rather the opposite, if one considers the unpleasantly messianic fantasies of their most devoted followers."

"Are you saying, sir that Their Majesties did not - ?"

"No, wait, Charles, let me finish. It's really their...unfortunate experiences with the Federation that make them so very _un_qualified to deal with our comrades on the other side of the world. The side _still_ shrouded by the Coral which the Vodarek radicals hold in such high regard, I might add. We, the people, need no winged messiahs to shape our foreign policy, don't you agree?"

"But Professor, doesn't that...?"

"That damned idiot."

Gene twitched, startled. The voice had been low but intense, coming from one of the male members of the small group now clustered near the juice vending machine along the wall. A tall, spare man with a short, pointed black beard gave the complainer a reproving glare. "Keep your voice down," he said, just above a whisper. "This isn't the place for such talk."

"Yes, sir. But you can see for yourself that these fools are following the prescribed line eagerly. As if they can't wait to swallow their own poison. Surely, they..."

"Later." The bearded one - instantly, Gene took him for a leader - spoke with the whipcrack of authority. One of the women leaned nearer to him and Gene strained to hear, but at that instant, someone seized his shoulder, pulling him away.

He shook the hand away with an angry shrug. "What're you _doing?_ I'm not some _baby_, that you can lead around on a rope, y'know."

Emiri Miyamoto regarded him with amusement. "Maybe so. But until you get to the Heart of the World, the rope'll still be there. Listen, we _know_ you aren't guilty of anything. But _somebody's_ up to no damn good lately, and with Their Majesties at risk, we can't afford to overlook anything at all. That means you." She looked away past his shoulder. "And your whiney girlfriend, too."

Gene followed her eyes. Manon, a powerful-looking Guardian of the Flame on each arm, was being force-marched down the main entrance stairway toward them. The agents, it seemed, were doing all they could to avoid attracting unnecessary attention, but Gene knew well that pouting look of outraged dignity on Manon's face. _Not such a bad face, really, if she'd just stop grimacing all the time_.

A harsh buzzer boomed through the waiting room, and an illuminated board announced the immanent departure of express bus 781 to the Heart of the World. Carl Lowe looked Gene's way. "Your baggage has already been loaded. You'll be met at the City terminal by more security forces. By the time they're through questioning you, everything will have died down around here, and you can come back, expenses paid by the InterDominion. That's not so bad, is it?"

"Isn't it? Easy for _you_ to say - _you_ haven't lost out on a crack at the District Reffing Championship. And I'd have won it, too, if it hadn't been for... For whatever that stuff was we ran into up there."

"Yeah." Lowe's unyielding face softened for an instant. "That 'stuff you ran into up there' is what the people in the Capitol want to know more about. Sorry this had to happen to you, Eugene...and Miss Lescault. At least enjoy the trip, okay? Come on, get aboard. Sit together, so you'll pass for some young couple on vacation. And maybe when this is all over, you could...get in touch with me. Understand?"

Gene did not understand at all. He settled for a curt nod and grabbed the handrail to lift himself into the bus, just ahead of Manon. Once inside, he took a seat at the middle, then, with a courtly flourish, gave Manon the window seat beside him. She took it but said nothing.

Determined to meet her own sullen silence with his own, he pulled a magazine from the back of the seat in front of them; looked out the window at the inside of the terminal; watched other passengers file aboard. And at that moment, something half-remembered cut through his depression and boredom. "That's funny."

"What is it now?" asked Manon, without looking his way.

"There was a little group of people inside, watching the video screen. They were all together, you could tell, and they didn't like the interview that was on. But now they've spread themselves all over the bus. Seems kind of funny, that's all."

She pressed herself against the pane of the side window, putting the maximum distance between them. "Even your imagination - such as it is - is dull and plodding."

"What's the matter, didn't sleep well last night? Wasn't the couch comfortable enough for you?"

"Could you at least have the common decency to keep your voice down?" Manon shut her eyes in a poor imitation of sleep, cutting off all lines of communication.

Gene wracked his brain for a properly scathing comeback. Finding none, he settled back in his seat and waited, torn between frustrated rage and a growing sense of helplessness. Above, in the driver's pod above the front windshield, he saw the operator turn a switch, and the doors hissed shut. With a deep hum, the bus lurched, then rolled upward and out of the terminal, into the unflinching sun of a new day.

**-****#****- **

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**Chapter Twenty-****Five**

**-****#****- **

**-#-**

Matt Stoner watched his face in the mirror as he straightened his tie. _A disappointing face_, he decided, as always. _Either too weak or too sarcastic; depends on the light. It doesn't show enough of what I really am. Or maybe I'm just afraid it shows too much. Either way, not the kind of face that attracts screaming crowds of eager girls, for sure. So then, why...?_

Behind him, the covers shifted and fell away as Sigrid stretched her body in several directions, a process Stoner found more than fascinating. She sat up in the bed, arms folded around her knees. "It's late. We overslept."

Without turning around, Stoner said, "We had a long night of it, after all."

"Uh-huh. You always spend this much time primping in front of the mirror?"

"Yeah." He turned, then, studying her taut form at many levels. "I'm head of the Information Ministry. Got to be ready for a camera at a second's notice. What about you? The almighty test is in twenty minutes. You wouldn't want to be late for what's probably the biggest social event of the year around here."

"I won't be late." Sigrid rolled smoothly from the bed, utterly unself-conscious, and sprang to the bathroom with two graceful strides. "Just a quick shower and brush my teeth, that's all. Don't leave without me, okay?"

For reasons he could not immediately identify, Stoner grew at once both wary and relieved. "Okay." Water hissed, first in the sink, then the shower stall of the small guest quarters. He pulled a brush from one jacket pocket and began whisking his short beard into order. _This isn't your first time, Matt, old boy. Don't get carried away. And on such short notice, too..._ Stoner slapped a touch of lime cologne to his face. _How many of'em have there been, anyway? The ones who just wanted to brag that they spent the night with the Minister of Information. Don't get carried away; don't let down your guard. She'll disappear in a couple of hours, just like all the others_.

The object of his speculations emerged from the bathroom, still toweling sparkling droplets of water from her body, shaking a fine spray from her pale hair. "Guess there's no time to get back to my own quarters for a change of clothes. Yesterday's coveralls'll have to do for now. Hope you don't mind."

"No, I don't mind. Don't you have to get back to your job, though?"

"I'm on second shift tonight, on account of the trial run this morning. Help me with this strap, will you, Matt? Thanks. If it's okay with you, I'll just tag along. I'm sure Morita will give _you_ the best seat in the house while he fires up the Pinwheel."

Stoner watched her closely as she fastened the various tabs and buckles of her technician's uniform. "Speaking of which, what was it you were going to tell me last night? About some kind of suspicions you had over the Project. Or was that just an...icebreaker?"

Her eyes widened, making Stoner feel at once guilty over his sharp tone.

"No, I wasn't kidding about that." She smiled in an impish way. "I guess we kind of forgot to talk about it last night, didn't we? No, it's just that I keep my ears open, you know? And I've heard a lot of talk about, well, doubts. People in Morita's own inner technical group, whispering together when they think nobody's listening. They've got doubts, Matt. They don't say so out loud, but they're...concerned."

"Is this the part where I ask 'Concerned about what?'"

"Sure is. Where the hell's my other shoe...? Oh. Hand it to me, would you? Great. It's this trapar-acceleration thing. Nobody's ever experimented with it before. Did Morita tell you that it induces a profound state change in whatever's hit by the accelerated trapar? Well, it seems that it can never be a hundred percent accurate, predicting exactly what the state change will _be_. You know what the Uncertainty Principle is?"

Stoner, who had listened in to many a technical discussion between Job Stevens and Fernando Wossel in his days with Gekkostate, nodded. "Yeah. You can never predict with reliable accuracy where an atomic particle's going to be in the future. And the smaller the particle, the more uncertain it gets."

"Close enough. Well, the same thing applies to accelerated trapar, it seems. And the greater the acceleration, the less trapar behaves like either a particle _or_ a wave. It becomes almost...well, I heard one of the top theoreticians describe it as more like a _thought_ than any kind of fundamental subatomic structure."

"You wouldn't by any chance be a Vodarek communicant, would you?"

"No. Dr. Morita is, though. His wife, I mean. Soniya." Sigrid brushed her damp hair into place with quick, determined strokes. "But the point is, in spite of all their computer models and theoretical projections, they can't tell _exactly_ what's gonna happen when they try to send something into lunar orbit."

"But yesterday's demonstration..."

"Was just that: a _demonstration_. They didn't move anything more than a few meters away, so the Uncertainty Principle never much came into play. But I'll bet nobody told you that the variability of the effect _increases_ with the square of the distance. At one of the staff meetings, Morita laid it all out in a series of equations that somehow modify Planck's Constant."

Stoner stared, momentarily speechless. If what she had told him was true, then Katsuhiro Morita was playing with something a great deal more dangerous than fire. "Then this test could...what? Fail? Send the object somewhere else? Blow the place up?"

"That's just the point - nobody _knows_ what it could do. They know what they _think_ it'll do, which is to put their little test probe into orbit around the Moon. Dr. Morita's advisors wanted him to try sending things out into space in little increments, rather than going whole hog all at once. But he pushed hard for going all the way. He said it was because of the risk that the Federation'd get ahead of us. I dunno, though - you probably know him better than me. I've worked for a lot of pure-research scientists, and a lot of them tend to get, you know, carried away. I'm not saying that Dr. Morita's that way, but..." She left the thought hanging between them.

"Have you told anyone else about this? Anyone outside the Project?"

"I can't." Sigrid stood, glanced briefly in the mirror, then faced him squarely. "Dr. Morita has a phased-wave channel to the Heart of the World, but other than that, direct communications in or out of the dome are blocked. Security, y'know. And after that explosion last night, you can bet the lid's screwed on even tighter now. What about you? Can _you_ make a call out?"

Stoner fumbled his communicator from his pocket. Its screen displayed a list of incoming calls that ended, he now noticed, just after his arrival. He thumbed the New Call stud, only to be presented with a red SIGNAL BLOCKED error message. Fear collected in a cold ball in his abdomen. "No, I can't. Look, I've got to get to Morita and..."

"No time now. Even if you _could_ wangle outside access, the trial's going to be in just a few more minutes. Hey, don't look so worried! It's riskier than anyone's letting on, I know, but be realistic - for this one test, the odds against us getting blown to atoms are a billion to one. Come _on_, if I really thought this test was gonna be dangerous, I would've told you a lot sooner. D'you think I'm too dumb to - ?"

"No, never mind, I didn't mean anything like that. You're probably right. But all the same, I still want to get up there _now_ and tell Morita this to his face. _Before_ they fire up this trapar Pinwheel of yours. You can..."

She clung to his sleeve. "Don't forget, I'm coming along. If everything goes the way it's planned - which it probably will - we'll have front-row seats."

"And if it doesn't, we'll both know what it's like to be turned into trapar vapor. Suit yourself, let's go."

**-****#****- **

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**-****#****- **

**Chapter Twenty-****Six**

**-****#****- **

**-#-**

"Rick! It's nearly time for the meeting. Why do you keep on staring out that window? Are you finished dressing?"

He shook his head irritably and remained seated at the upholstered bench next to the bay window of their suite. "Yeah, I'm all dressed. We've still got a couple of minutes, yet. I'm just looking out toward the field they're using for the ref tournament base. They've started the second day's trials. You can just see it over that way, beyond those grain elevators."

Ariadne, in a filmy, abbreviated black gown that clung to her like smoke, came to his side. "You've been watching it since we got out of bed. Why does it fascinate you so? You were never _that_ deeply involved in reffing."

"Well, it's..." He waved one hand before him, searching for a way to make it clear to her without resorting to the crutch of direct communication with his jewel. "It's not the reffing itself. It's that Gene kid, I guess. Ever since we met him, it's been bothering me, sort of."

"In what way?" She sat herself at his side. "We barely know him, after all. _Or_ that tiresome girl. Why should he annoy you?"

"Not _annoy_ me, exactly... I mean... Well, he's nineteen. Just about the same age as me. And yet he's got a job that he works hard at, and he's real championship ref material - you could tell just by watching him yesterday, before that accident that brought him down." Rick looked over one shoulder at her. "It just seems to me that he's already doing so much better than I am. No, let me finish - he didn't have any of the _advantages_ I did. Being the adopted son of 'Their Majesties,' I mean. He's had to pull himself up right from the bottom, holding a responsible job, plus training on the side for a top reffing slot." He tossed up both hands. "But what've _I _done? 'Prince Maurice,' my butt. I've had it all _handed_ to me, without doing much at all."

"You did a very great deal, five years ago." Ariadne's hand found his. "No one on earth could have done better than you. You were a real _hero_. Gene is a rather nice boy, but he couldn't have done what _you_ did, then. _Or_ now."

Rick felt himself blush. He watched as one of the distant reffers soared skyward, unfettered and free. "Maybe. But since he's never _been_ in that kind of position, how do I _know?_ Look, Mom and Dad say we're being trained to _replace_ them, some day. _You_ can do that, but how do I know _I_ can? It's a _huge_ job."

"I know." She slid herself nearer to him on the bench, leaning on the windowsill. "The truth is...I'm not so certain about being able to do Mother's job myself, you know."

"You're _not?_"

A diffident knock sounded from their door. "Your Highnesses? The Special Council of the Cooperative has assembled. They await your presence."

"Okay," said Rick without turning around. "We'll be there in just a minute."

As though unaware of the interruption, Ariadne slowly shook her head. "I think I can understand a little of how Manon must feel, needing to stand on her own, without her parents. I...I really wonder if I ever _could_ take Mother's place. She's amazing; she was barely even _conscious_ when she met Father and they set out together. And I... Rick, this is very _serious._ _Look_ at me, please. What are you _staring_ at?"

His throat gone tight and dry, he could only point upward, toward the eastern horizon, where a huge swath of sky now glimmered with shifting little rainbows, like the iridescent scales of some titanic, half-invisible fish. "It's the biggest flock I've ever seen," he whispered.

The brilliant display streamed and spread, faster than the wind, speckling the morning with its terrible beauty. Ariadne saw, and stared, and he could feel her answering fear. Their lips moved in unison, breathing the same muted words.

"Sky-fish."

-#-

Sigrid led Stoner at a half-run through the maze of walkways above and around the great slumbering Pinwheel itself. Like crickets on a summer's night, voices chattered at every turn, calling, exhorting, reading out lists of incomprehensible numbers. The air itself crackled and twitched at his exposed skin, as electrical potentials he could scarcely imagine built up around them. Once again, harsh klaxons boomed out from overhead speakers. "_Two minutes, thirty seconds to power-up. All personnel prepare protective goggles. Capacitors and main accumulators are charging. Reactor output steady at point nine eight_."

He stumbled up a final open-mesh aluminum stairway to the observation platform, Sigrid bounding easily ahead before him. "Morita," he panted, grabbing for the handrail surrounding them. "You've got to..."

Katsuhiro Morita, Soniya and some ten or so assistants looked very displeased. "You are only barely on time, Mr. Stoner. I had reservations about your presence at this facility from the beginning, but Gregory..."

"Screw that. What about the Uncertainty Principle?"

"The...?" His eyes narrowed toward Sigrid. "What have _you_ been...?"

Stoner drew himself face to face with Morita. "She's been doing _nothing_ - except reminding me that my job's to gather information. I haven't been doing so hot since I got here. But now I mean to start again. I know about your accelerated trapar stream, and how it's affected by the Uncertainty Principle. What I _don't_ know is how dangerous it can be. How about you tell me?"

Morita glanced toward his wife, then to several members of his team. "Do you really - ?"

The warning voice cut him off. _"One minute, thirty seconds to power-up. All personnel prepare protective goggles. Charge levels approaching maximum. Reactor output steady_."

"Your zeal outstrips your reason, Stoner. Do you _really_ believe I'd deliberately subject my co-workers - my _wife_ - to any possible disastrous consequences?"

He wiped his brow with the back of one sleeve. "If you considered the odds low enough, yes. You'd _always_ put pure research over personal safety. That's what you and Holland were fighting about, twelve years ago, wasn't it? Buried in your research and not giving a damn about what the Federation did with it, as long as you could go on with your projects." Below them and off to one side, a hydraulic platform lifted the bulky silver pod of the lunar probe into precise position in front of the emitting end of the Pinwheel. Its silvery polished-alloy shell glittered like a sack full of stars in the overhead lights.

"Idiot!" Morita raised his hands, clipboard in one, stylus clutched in the other. "That was _long_ ago. It's why I defected from the Federation in the first place. It's not relevant to the - "

_"One minute to power-up. All personnel must prepare protective goggles."_

Soniya, who had stood impassively watching the exchange, stepped forward and handed Stoner and Sigrid their sets of protective lenses. "You _must_ put these on, both of you. All of this argument is inappropriate here. Save it for later, _please_."

"I don't..." Stoner looked to Sigrid, who shrugged in an I-_told_-you-so way and pulled on her goggles. All around them the others on the observation bridge did the same, giving them the unsettling aspect of a hive of expectant bees. He yanked the lenses into place, squinting into their dull yellowish tint. "All right, dammit, but after this is over, I _will_..."

_"Fifteen seconds to power-up." _

The overhead lamps dimmed as the air's electrical potential sharpened around them. From the enormous snail-shell of the Pinwheel, a thin whine climbed the frequency range into ultrasonic and beyond. _This isn't like the first test,_ Stoner realized. _It's vibrating, the whole building's vibrating. And there's an aura around _everything_, now, including us. Morita sees it, too. Was he expecting it? Or was he_ -

A brilliant circle of actinic light formed in the air some ten meters above the probe platform. Stoner saw the others speaking quickly among themselves, and Soniya leaned closer to her husband, her words lost in the deep hum now radiating from the Pinwheel. A blast like nothing Stoner had ever experienced outside of a battlefield shook the observation deck and left him temporarily deafened. _"What's going on up there?"_ he mouthed to Sigrid, moving to her side.

Something appeared in the electrical corona above, growing from a tiny sphere of silver, then expanding, twisting like a droplet of mercury on a plate that shaped itself into a gleaming metal pod. _It's the probe. It's the damn probe. But...it's still _there_, on its launching platform. So how can it be in two places...?_

_"Bombardment sequence begins. Five...four...three...two..."_

The cryogenic magnets unleashed their lance of hyperaccelerated trapar and the lunar probe - the first one - vanished from its platform with a flash, even as the duplicate that hovered above fell crashing to the network of conduits and piping below. The twangs and squeals of collapsing metal filled Stoner's dulled hearing, and he began to slide sideward. Without thinking, he threw both arms about Sigrid and pulled her to the metal-mesh floor of the observation deck while the lacy aluminum bracing supporting it crumpled and folded beneath them.

-#-

Burgomeister Lescault slipped another peppermint antacid tablet between his lips and smiled again at at the twelve assembled Honshu Farm Cooperative representatives._ I mustn't make a mess of this. I mustn't show weakness. I mustn't lose control over the meeting._ He looked round the polished table, gaging their probable reactions. That they would be politely ecstatic over the announcement of a railway line to transport their crops to southern markets was a given. They would also want details of the new tax exemptions, hints of which the InterDominion had already leaked from the Heart of the World._ Can I somehow leave the impression that_ I _had something to do with any of that?_

The door to the Council chambers opened, and one of those unsettling black-garbed Guardians of the Flame entered the room. Then another, the woman this time, followed. They each took a position on either side of the doorway, RPP guns prominently displayed at their sides. "Their Majesties the Prince Maurice and the Princess Ariadne," announced the woman, and all the assembled Counselors came to their feet without prompting. The Burgomeister rose with the stateliest, most controlled dignity he could muster, and looked toward the doorway wearing a face of judicial confidence, the one he had secretly practiced for so long in front of his dressing-table mirror.

The Prince and Princess, hand in hand, entered the room like a brilliant dawn. All round the room, Lescault heard the faint hiss of intaken breath, and he could scarcely resist his own urge to sigh in the presence of such otherworldly beauty. Prince Maurice, in his somber black uniform, seemed born to command, and at his side, the Lady, devastating in a simple, brief black gown, devoured them all with eyes of lavender and gold._ Even having been so close to them yesterday, I still feel the aura of their power and mystery. I must choose my words carefully in their presence_.

Lescault bowed. "Your Majesties, if you would condescend to seat yourselves among us. We are all eager to hear any news from the InterDominion which you would care to bring us." _Was that too obsequious? I mustn't overdo it_.

"Thank you," said the Princess with a dip of her exquisite head. Prince Maurice pulled a chair out for her and seated himself at her side. As a group, the Counselors followed at once, with Burgomeister Lescault just fractionally behind. _And now it begins. Oh, by the Great Lord Baruma and His Holy Emissaries, how I wish I could sneak another stomach tablet!_

-#-

Major Haydn shifted in his seat, trying to work away the dull ache in his left buttock. He consulted his chronometer yet again. The bus would be arriving at Harmony Falls for a brief rest stop at 9:30, if the printed schedule were accurate. One could never be entirely certain, here in the New Lands.

Still, the Major could find no fault. _Remarkable that in a mere ten years, these people have been able to construct a new civilization at all_._ They must be very highly motivated._

The bus lurched as the driver applied the brakes, and the Major spied a few widely-spaced houses and farms near the road. Far beyond, a river, placid and slow in the summer sunlight, flashed through the trees. This could only be Harmony Falls.

He turned in his seat and looked backward, casually, as though taking in the view through the broad side windows. The boy and girl still occupied the same seats, displaying little interest in each other. The rest of the team sat scattered through the passenger compartment. Haydn's eyes met briefly with Eric Satie's, in the row second from last; at once, they both looked away, to avoid any hint of recognition.

The intercom system of the bus crackled, and the driver announced, "Now approaching Harmony Falls. We'll be making a half-hour stop at the transit depot to charge the accumulators and take on a few more passengers, so if you'd like to stretch your legs and have something to eat, please feel free. This bus will depart again at zero ten hours, fifteen."

Within only a few minutes, they nosed into the circular bus station, modest but neat, and, like all buildings here in the New Lands, clearly no more than a few years old. Haydn glanced back again, making certain all members of his team were present, and the doors hissed open. Passengers rose, chattering and stretching, then filed out to the exit doors. Most seemed interested in a small restaurant just visible across the spacious waiting room inside. But the girl and boy remained in their seats, giving Major Haydn several seconds of anxiety. _Get off the bus with everyone else,_ he fumed. _Don't just sit there with those sullen expressions, get up and walk about!_

As though hearing his thoughts, they shuffled to their feet, exchanging no more than a few grunted words, and made their way to the rear exit. Haydn left through the forward door in a leisurely way, far too professional to allow his rising tension to reveal itself.

Lieutenant Satie stood near a magazine rack, paging through a copy of _Ray=Out _without reading it. Across the broad waiting room, the boy dropped a coin into a vending machine that ejected two red fruits into a bin. He offered one to the girl, who turned away, folding her arms and seeming to find something of great interest in a poster on the opposite wall. _Ocean Dunes_, it proclaimed, in vibrant red lettering, _Come and Feel the Excitement of the InterDominion's First Seaside Resort Hotel!_

Apparently unimpressed, the girl moved away, toward the rear of the depot and the folding glass doors that led out into a grassy expanse behind. Anitra looked up at once, and Major Haydn gave her the hand signal to follow.

Haydn swore silently; the boy was tagging after the girl. _Who are _you_, really? What unit assigned you to work with one of_ them? _Did your superiors never tell you of the risk?_ He hurried his pace as much as he dared, watching the other members of his team begin to converge toward the rear entrance. Still maintaining the illusion of randomness, they milled ever nearer, like any cluster of disparate tourists or casual travelers.

The girl pushed open the door and the boy followed, catching it before it could strike him as it closed. Bits of their intensely whispered conversation drifted back as they passed through.

"...so damn stubborn..."

"...because _you_ have nothing to lose..."

"...my family..."

"...all you _ever_ think about?"

Even now, the Major could feel a grudging admiration for their professionalism. _Outstanding_. _Maintaining cover even when they think no one's watching or listening. Such a shame that their talents could not have been put to better use._

The door fanned shut on its hydraulic mechanism. The couple stood outside, arguing with great animation, their backs to the bus depot. Haydn's tension rose as he gave the sign to converge and intercept. A synthesized announcement of departures and immanent arrivals echoed from the tile walls. Anitra took advantage of the brief covering noise to make three quick steps to the door and ease it open. Satie and Williams followed with rapid cat steps, through the opening, out and behind.

The boy looked back, his mouth open in a cry of indignation, too late, as Anitra's hand covered his lower face. An instant later, Satie had the girl likewise secured. "Over there," whispered the Major, pointing to a stand of ornamental shrub out of sight of the depot's rearmost glass wall. The two struggled, but efficient arm and leg locks kept them from making any escape.

Haydn signaled to the other members of the team to keep watch, then pulled the RPP from beneath his coat. "Do you see this?" he asked the boy in a soft voice. "You know what it is? Good. I will now have my associate free your mouth. If you make any cry for attention, I shall kill you both. Understood? Good. Anitra - let him speak."

"Who in hell are _you_ guys?" the boy demanded at once. He squirmed furiously, his face growing red, but Anitra's armlocks held him immobile. "I thought we left you all back in Shiretoko! What the hell d'you want_ now?_"

"My name is Haydn. Major John Michael Haydn, Federation External Security. You may drop your pose, now, impressive as it has been. I want your true name and true age, your Service number and your rank. Then we will discuss your mission." He tilted his head in the girl's direction. "_And_ hers. Stop struggling; you have no notion of the mortal danger you've been in, working with her."

"Federation...? Look, cut all this phony _crap_. Why are you guys still harassing us? Who _are_ you, really? Guardians? IPF Security again? Just let us _alone_, would you? That _hurts_, dammit!"

"I said it is _no longer necessary_..." Haydn swallowed. _The stakes are high, but you must not lose your professional detachment_. "It is no longer required that you continue your assumed identity. I _am_ Major Haydn, and your mission - and hers - must be terminated. Anitra, loosen your hold upon his neck."

The boy's head came forward a bit as Anitra's immobilizing neck lock eased. "_Listen_ to me, will you? I'm Gene Onegin, and I'm from Shiretoko. I don't know who you _think_ I am, but..."

"Never mind. I can see you will cling to your duty until you are given further proof." Major Haydn looked up and down the blank rear walls of the bus depot. A thick reek of ozone from the charging apparatus permeated the air. The laughter and chatter of passengers sounded from the waiting room, muffled but active. Soon, someone would wander out the rear door for a moment of fresh air. "This matter is far greater than you realize. We cannot stay here. You will be taken to a secure location, where I will call for a..."

Something quivered at the edge of his vision. He saw the others twitch and frown; clearly, they felt it, too. Haydn moved his head from side to side, but the jagged blur still crept in and around him, shimmering, writhing, yet never allowing him to focus his sight upon it.

"Major?" said Grieg, a rare expression of worry upon his chiseled face. "What is...?"

His words echoed as from a great distance, hollow and faint. Haydn shook his head again, but the distortion remained, in sight and hearing. Everything drifted in and out of visibility, while quivering incandescent bands wriggled past his eyes. The sunlight dimmed and grew bluish, sickly. "This is... Everyone prepare..."

The RPP slid from his fingers, wobbling slowly to the ground like a coin through water. Time oozed to a near-halt, and through his dulled vision, Major Haydn saw the boy and girl shiver and _glow_ with a soft radiance like no color he had ever seen before. In spite of his fear, he could not run, could not _move_, could not shut his eyes as the two captives expanded, cast aside his helpless team and sent them tumbling in slow motion to the ground.

He could see _through_ them, now, both of them, shapeless, shimmering forms with no remaining aspect of humanity. And within that pallid glow, something squirmed and flexed, something he very badly did not want to see. For the first time in his long career, Haydn wanted to scream, but no sound came from his deadened throat. He buckled under the incomprehensible _will_ of the two hideous things blossoming before him, and then the explosion came, in ragged jerks like a timelapse video, overwhelming him until at last he saw no more.

-#-

"...and these tax credits," Prince Maurice assured the Cooperative representatives, standing before the conclave table, "are going to be made _retroactive_ for the past five years."

Burgomeister Lescault beamed. Tax incentives, even more generous than his most blissful dreams. Technical assistance. A railway freight line. Their Majesties simply _overflowed_ with wonderful news for the desperate Agricultural Cooperative. He could see it in the delegates' overjoyed faces, and knew that they would be associating _him_ with this Royal blessing!_ I've done it! The permanent Chairmanship of the Cooperative is all but mine!_

Applause pattered around the table at the Prince's announcement. But Prince Maurice himself only smiled in polite response, a queer look of surprise on his face. The Burgomeister jumped to his own feet, clapping enthusiastically. "_Thank_ you! Our deepest thanks to Your Majesties, for this _very_ welcome announcement! Lord Baruma's blessings be upon both of you! I assure you that the InterDominion will never have cause to regret... To regret..."

Something was terribly wrong. The Prince only stood, unspeaking, unmoving, staring, his lavender-pink Coralian eyes focused far away, on something only he could see.

"Your Highness? Have we said something disturbing? Is there...?"

Beside the Prince, Princess Ariadne went limp and slid from her seat without a word. Before anyone could react, Prince Maurice swayed for an instant, then toppled forward on to the table, knocking aside water pitcher and glasses in a splashing, tinkling dance that sent a gasp of horror through the delegates. The two Guardians of the Flame flanking the meeting chamber rushed forward, but Lescault had already fumbled for his personal communicator. "_Emergency_. This is the Burgomeister. There's a priority emergency. The Prince and Princess have..._collapsed_."

_And may Lord Baruma and His holy emissaries of fire, Jayzu, Mommet and Bodda, grant that it be nothing worse!_

**-****#****- **

**-****#****- **

**-****#****- **

**Chapter Twenty-****Seven**

**-****#****- **

**-#-**

Rick stared up into the shocked faces of the ring of guards that surrounded the bed. _Bed? What the hell am I doing in bed?_

"He's coming around," someone said. From somewhere in the room, he heard the crackle of communicator handsets and urgent, murmured responses. Ariadne's radiant face appeared above his own.

"We're back in our suite," she told him. "The Guardians brought us back here after we blacked out during our presentation. I came to just a minute ago."

"Yeah." He sat up, holding her waist for support. - _I remember it. Pretty scary. Do you know what happened?_

_No. But I think we need to find out, as soon as possible._

Nina Kotova, the Guardian bodyguard, took Rick's hand. Her face told him of her genuine concern. "Your Highnesses. There are physicians on the way. You should not move until they..."

"I'm fine." Irritated at being treated as a helpless infant, he swung both legs to the floor. "I guess you guys've already told Viyuuden?"

"Yes, sir. And the IPF people have notified the Heart of the World. Were you poisoned? Attacked in some way?"

Ariadne slid from the bed to his side and they both stood. "I don't think so," she said. "But _something_ isn't right. Please give our apologies to the Cooperative delegates and the Burgomeister."

A very harassed-looking Carl Lowe pushed himself through the ring of guards, holding his own communicator. "Sir and Lady, we've notified your parents."

"You didn't have to," Rick told him. "They already know." Around them, the circle of faces kept on staring, watching. Waiting.

_These people are waiting for us to tell them what to do, Rick._

- _Don't I know it. But what the hell are we going to say?_

-#-

Stoner felt himself grow weightless and knew the observation platform was giving way beneath them. Desperately, he snatched out for Sigrid and pulled her to himself as they dropped twenty meters toward the rubble-littered floor below. The world flashed by in a crazy kaleidoscope of metal and light. _Are you supposed to go limp with a fall, or tighten yourself up? _He was still deciding when they impacted with the ground, smashing the breath from him.

Sirens screamed through the Pinwheel dome, punctuated by harsh barks of klaxons. From somewhere on the other side of the installation, two muffled explosions boomed out. "Everyone please evacuate the Project," said the breathless announcement from the audio system. "Security personnel, we have a notice of a vehicle leaving the Dome, moving westward. Medical personnel, report to the main Project office for instructions. All others, evacuate at once. There has been damage in the main transformer area. Exits Three-twenty-one through Four-oh-seven are blocked. Please make your way in an orderly fashion to any of the other exits."

One by one, Stoner tested his arms and legs. Pain throbbed in one hip, but he assumed it to be a bruise rather than a fracture, and staggered to his feet, pulling the limp Sigrid up with him. "Hey! You okay?" Frightened, he shook her like a boneless doll. "Sigrid! Come on, now. _Wake up_, dammit!"

"Uhhh..." He nearly shouted for happiness when her eyelids quivered open and she raised her head upright. "Matt? What th'hell's... The platform..."

"Yeah, the platform's supports got knocked out from under it when that probe rolled out of the air. There's a lot of other damage around here, too. We can thank that chunk of magnesium-foam insulation we landed on that we're in one piece. Can you walk?"

"I think..." Sigrid lurched, held to Stoner's jacket, and kept to her feet. "Yeah. Just gimme a second... What _happened?_ What's going on? The trial run...?"

A sheared-off pipe less than three meters away tumbled to the floor, ringing painfully with each bounce. Stoner dragged her against the nearest wall until it lay still. "Looks like all hell's cut loose. Morita's experiment screwed up in a big way, and there's something _else_ going on, a couple of explosions. Looks to me like our Mad Bomber's back in business. Come on."

"What? Where're we going?"

"Chasing the news, baby. You heard the announcement - the guy who blasted the power supply's getting away. Can you lead me to the parking deck?"

"Uh, sure. What d'you...?" A waft of caustic chlorine fumes drifted their way, and Sigrid turned away, coughing. "This way. Gotta get out before we choke. C'mon."

Still unsteady on her feet, she led them past the frost-sheened bulge of the lunar probe, creaking and steaming amid a tangle of mangled metal, trough a doorway leading into an outer ring corridor already jammed with escaping technical staff. Too highly trained for panic, they parted with a minimum of grumbling as Sigrid pushed her way through, pulling the disoriented Stoner close behind.

A long concrete ramp appeared at last, plunging down to a below-ground level. "That's the parking deck down there," she panted, hands on hips. As if to reinforce her announcement, a low military vehicle with spiraling red lights whizzed past at the bottom of the incline.

Stoner had no problem deciding where it was headed. "Okay, looks like the chase is on." He squeezed Sigrid's hand, not without regret. "This's where I say so long."

"Like _hell_ you do. I saw what happened up there as well as you did; this isn't just some ordinary bombing job. So I'm not letting you get away that easy. Exactly where're you going, anyway?" She did not release his hand, but held to him all the more tightly.

"I don't... _You_ heard the announcement! Whoever blasted your transformers is trying to get away. And I'm going to follow along to get the story. My car's still down there, charged and ready to go. Well, so am I."

She lifted one eyebrow. "Sounds exciting. I'm coming with you." Another pursuit vehicle flashed by below them.

"Dammit, you _can't!_ I always work alone..."

"Sounds like a personal problem, Matt. What about your camouflage operation? To disguise the Pinwheel?"

"Don't talk nonsense! After this incident, no one's going to be touring this facility for _months_."

"You don't _know_ that, and neither does Dr. Morita."

Stoner nearly shivered. "Morita's already got his hands more than full. That probe went out, all right - and it came back _fifteen seconds before it left! _You know what that means? It means_ nothing's _going to happen around here from now on without Gregory Egan's personal supervision. Let me go, before I - "

"_No_. Not alone. Listen, either I go with you, or I trot straight away to find Dr. Morita and tell him you're skipping out. I mean it. The security forces around here aren't exactly the IPF, but they can sure drag _your _butt back here. Especially if I drop a couple of hints that you know more about the bombings than you're telling."

With precious seconds slipping by, Stoner balled both fists in frustration. He had no doubt she would do exactly what she said. "_Damn you!_ Why should you _want_ to come with me on a crazy pointless chase, anyway?"

She released his wrist, folded both arms across her chest and watched him closely. "It's not going to be pointless. You _know_ the real thing when you see it, don't you?" From the level above them came a harsh rumble, as of something collapsing. "I trust you, Matt."

"Don't. That's _your_ problem."

"I don't think so." She gave him an encouraging smile and hooked one arm through his. "So, let's get rolling, before the son of a bitch who blew things up gets away. Okay?"

Without facing her, Stoner nodded. "Okay, _okay_. Now,_ run!_"

And they ran for all they were worth, down the long and echoing ramp, into the shadows.

-#-

Renton squinted into the overhead light and pushed himself from the floor on first one elbow, then both arms. _Eureka. Where's Eureka?_ "Eureka?" he coughed, faint and feeble. Hands pressed and probed his chest and neck.

"She's here, beside you," said Dr. Mischa Egan, pulling him to a seated position. "She passed out at the same time you did."

"Passed out? When did we...? Oh, yeah. We were talking with Holland and Dr. Egan. Your husband, I mean. What happened? Are they all right? And what're _you_ doing here, Mischa?" Some lingering fear - of exactly _what_, he still could not define - still spun its sticky filaments around him.

Renton took Eureka's hand, relieved to find its familiar warmth undiminished. He flashed her a question with his forehead gem, the Eye of Thought, and found no answering response. He tried again, concentrating more intently this time. _You okay?_

Eureka's jewel sparked and glimmered in a random way. Her fine blue-green eyebrows drew together in annoyance for a moment. _Yes. I just had a bit of dizziness. We're still in Holland's office, aren't we?_

_Yeah, we are._ Renton focused his eyes and looked round. Brilliant late-morning sunlight, lush and golden, flooded through the windows. Holland and Dr. Egan stood not far distant, looking down at them, obviously relieved. Beside him, his own overturned chair lay on its side. Feeling absurdly helpless and childish, he forced himself to stand and reached down to help Eureka up beside him. "What's going on? Did _everybody_ pass out?"

"No," said Mischa, folding up some small medical instrument and laying it to the mahogany surface of the table. "Only you two. Gregory called me at once, and a good thing, too. You were unconscious for only about five minutes, but you had us all worried. Would you mind telling us - ?"

Eureka fluttered her wings back into alignment. "No, wait, all of you. We _weren't_ the only ones. Maurice and Ariadne were affected too, I can feel it. They're all right, now."

"They're still in Shiretoko?" asked Holland, pulling out his personal communicator and punching up an access code. Renton had no doubt it was for IPF Security.

"Yes. It was as if Renton and I were...standing in front of some enormous _pit_, looking down, and there was nothing but emptiness, forever, as far as we could see."

Renton remembered the sensation fully, now, in all its ghastly clarity. "Yeah. Yes. And we were just about to tip over and fall in, when...well, _something_ reached out and pulled us back."

Dr. Gregory Egan spoke at last. "And what, if I may ask, _was_ that...something? The Coral, perhaps?"

"It might have been." Eureka rubbed at her eyes. "But there was something _else_, too. Something that didn't want us to fall."

Holland, who had been speaking softly and rapidly into the communicator, looked up. "Right on target, Eureka. The kids were in a conclave with the Shiretoko Grange group, and they blacked out, just like you guys. The Guardians and IPFS guards with them say they seem okay now, but they've hustled them back to their room. And listen, Doc...something's going on out at the Pinwheel, too. I'm getting stuff about more explosions, and crazy aftereffects from their test run. Morita's fit to be tied. And it seems like Stoner's nowhere to be found. All hell's breaking loose."

"So it would appear." Egan flexed his powerful forearms. "Life is an uncertain voyage at best, and it seems we are being forcibly reminded of that fact. Come, Holland, we must speak with Commander Sorel at once."

"No, wait." Holland held up one hand, and he did not put down the communicator. "I'm seeing a message here from Woz, over at the University. Their tracking equipment has...it looks like the Arkship. He says it's _moving_. Leaving lunar orbit."

"Oh?" Dr. Egan showed great interest, but no more. "Intriguing. And in what direction is it now bound?"

"Toward..." Rapidly, Holland re-read the message on the little screen. "Yeah. He says...toward Earth."

"I see. Mischa, my dearest kitten, I pray you will remain with Renton and Eureka for several hours more, until it is certain that no ill effects remain. We shall continue this gathering later this evening, with more participants and hopefully more information; this is no routine matter. There appears to be a pattern - "

The door at the opposite end of the room burst open, crashing against the wall behind. To Renton's complete amazement, Viyuuden stood framed within it, panting and perspiring, his dark clothing streaked with dust. "Gregory," he shouted. "Those two youngsters from Shiretoko. The ones arrested at the reffing tournament. They are on their way here, to the Heart of the World?"

The Prime Minister nodded, not at all fazed by the strange interruption. "That is true. They were placed upon a bus this very morning, and - "

But Viyuuden staggered inside, leaning forward, slamming his hands upon the meeting table. "No! They must not! Gregory,_ they must never reach this city!_"

-#-

Gene grew aware of an excited crowd inside the depot, and red lights flashing from the bus parking area. Whispering crowds. An ambulance. _Somebody's hurt? I wonder who. Was there a bus accident, or what?_

He shook his head rapidly, angry at the clinging sleepiness dulling his thoughts. "Manon? What the hell's going on over there?"

He heard no answer, and for a moment, Gene fumed, certain that she'd gone running off on her own again, in spite of the explicit warnings they'd been given before departing. But she stood no more than a meter away, leaning against the tile wall beside the restaurant, silent and staring at nothing in particular. "Where?" she said after several seconds. "What _is_ all this? R-red lights. What do they mean?" Then she faced him and the familiar scowl returned. "What are we dawdling in here for, tractor boy? Why did I let you - ?"

"Let me _what?_ All I did was follow you outside..." Gene trailed off, thinking, confused and irritated. "I followed you outside... _Then_ what? I was getting mad about something..."

"You always are. You can't seem to control your..." She fell silent as a pair of medical attendants hurried through the concourse, bearing a man with a narrow face and thin mustache toward the waiting ambulance parked between a pair of buses. "Who's that man? He...reminds me of someone, but I can't seem to place him. Nasty-looking sort; I don't like him."

"Yeah, kind of looks like somebody who'd stick a knife in your back. Wait a minute, they're bringing someone _else_ up, too... Looks like a woman." He shivered. For no clear reason, the woman on the stretcher gave him the same sensation of rage and loathing as the mustached man. "Yeah, like you said, reminds me of somebody, I guess. Come on, let's get back to the bus... Wasn't there only _one_ parked here when we pulled in? When did those other three get here?"

Manon straightened, staring toward the clock behind the ticket desk, blinking as though unsure of her eyes. "It's...a quarter till eleven."

"So what?"

"Don't be so dense! We arrived here at _nine-thirty_ for a half-hour break. But we've been here for over an _hour_. Do _you_ remember standing in here that long? _I _certainly don't."

He looked at the clock, whose large black digits twitched to ten-forty-six even as he watched. It was crazy, _had_ to be crazy. But she was right. "I bought some fruit. You went outside, and I went out right after you... Right out there where they're bringing those people in from!" He grew excited as two more ambulances came to a squealing stop near the buses. "That must mean... Holy crap!"

"_Stop_ it with your childish babbling!" Her voice held a sharp edge of hysteria, now. "Can't you even finish a sentence? _What_ does it mean?"

"That something _happened_ out there. I _remember_, now. We were outside, and those people on the stretchers were there, too. They kept wanting to know who we were, but they didn't believe me. They had some crazy story about the Federation. And then... Then...I guess somebody must've attacked us with, I dunno, nerve gas or an electrical stun or something."

"_Nerve_ gas? Are you out of your mind? That's - "

"You got a _better_ idea? Nothing else makes sense! _We_ must've got away, but _they_ were... Are they dead?" The concept left him with a sinking fear like nothing he had known before.

Manon wrapped both arms about herself and looked as if she might cry, but did not. "What is going _on?_ Nobody warned us about being _attacked_, not IPF Security, not those Guardian people, not my father. What am I going to _do?_ I've never - "

Gene risked holding her by the shoulders, tightly. Two more pairs of medics hurried in the front entrance, toward the rearmost door, this time pushing gurneys with IV bottles dangling. "Wait a minute. It looks like whoever tried to get _us_ must've got _them_, instead. That means that the killers - whoever they are - probably think they nailed _us_, too."

She nodded, though with little conviction. The bus dispatcher made an announcement over the speaker system warning all travelers to stay away from the "accident scene" outside, so that the medical teams could make their way unobstructed. A list of departure times for various buses followed. "Then they..they're probably gone?"

"For now, yeah. But it won't be long till they realize they screwed up, will it? We can't just stand around here, and we can't get back on our bus to the Heart of the World, that's for sure. Let me have your ticket."

"My ticket? It's in my pocket. What are you - ?"

"They gave us plenty of money back in Shiretoko; I'm gonna get us tickets on another bus. That'll at least give us time to _think_ about this, think about what to do next."

"All right." She fumbled in her slacks, then handed Gene the optically-coded plastic card. "It sounds sensible. But which bus should we take? There aren't any others to the Heart of the World for hours."

_She's right._ Gene's eyes wandered to the departure board, then quickly back to a poster on the far wall: _Come and Feel the Excitement of the InterDominion's First Seaside Resort Hotel!_

He hurried to the ticket counter, keeping one eye on Manon as he pushed their tickets across to the uniformed attendant. "Yes, sir?" she asked.

"Uh, say, what's all the commotion about? And the ambulances, and stuff? What's going on? How come the bus from Shiretoko is still here?"

"_All_ the buses have been delayed, sir, because of so many ambulances parked outside. There seems to have been some kind of explosion, at the rear of the building. There was a big flash of light - didn't you see it? - and those people were found lying on the ground out there, unconscious. Or at least, I _hope_ they're only unconscious." She looked at him curiously. "You weren't aware of it?"

"We were...walking around outside, by the buses. In front. Uh, talking about changing our plans. We didn't notice anything was going on till the ambulances started coming. We'd like to change these tickets to a different destination, if we can." Gene began to perspire. _Am I acting suspicious? Suppose that she's part of all this, too? Are we being watched?_

But the clerk made no hostile moves. "Certainly, we can do that. Let me have them, so I can alter the encoding. Where would you like to go?"

He drew himself tall and gave her a hard gaze, as though daring her to disagree. "Ocean Dunes."

"Of course. There are plenty of seats still available on that bus." With a smile, she inserted the tickets in a slot and typed in a few rapid alterations. The machine pinged, ejected their cards, and she passed them both back over the counter with a smile. "That will be forty-two ICU extra, sir. Thank you. You're in luck, that bus leaves in seventeen minutes...if the ambulances are clear by then. I'll call and have your baggage transferred..."

"Never mind, thanks - there's not much. I'll get it myself." He was already on his way, past Manon, toward the Heart of the World bus, whose luggage door still lay gaping and unheeded. _We'll be on our way, now, in just a couple minutes. _

_But...what're we running from? And where in hell can we go?_

**The End**


End file.
